


The Tiger's Kidnapping

by fabricdragon, SpeculativeCorvid



Series: A Change of Hearts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Demisexual Character, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Headaches & Migraines, Kidnapping, M/M, Mildly Unreliable Narrators, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Sebastian Moran Swears, Shifter AU, Threats of Violence, Were AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29026419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeculativeCorvid/pseuds/SpeculativeCorvid
Summary: After The Reichenbach  Falls, Moriarty's top sniper, lover, pet, Sebastian Moran determines to have his revenge on Mycroft Holmes: things do NOT go according to plan.Please see story notes for content warnings and (spoilers) potential triggers.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sebastian Moran, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty (Past)
Series: A Change of Hearts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129400
Comments: 132
Kudos: 45





	1. Tiger's New Toy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RueRambunctious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/gifts).



> Title inspired by 'Tiger Kidnapping' by RueRambunctious (https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599488). Stories are NOT linked, but the name is a play off that.
> 
> While nothing graphic happens 'on-screen' both Sebastian Moran and Mycroft Holmes are dealing with PAST trauma. There will be discussion of that in this story (not graphic) where possible, this WILL be warned in the chapter summary or notes in which it occurs.

It was easier than expected. Funny how that worked out, considering everything else had been a damned struggle since Jim'd left. Took him a fucking week to get some asshole to sign a piece of paper and took four days to figure out how to kidnap Mycroft fucking Holmes. _Take that ya skinny dead bastard,_ he thought as he dropped the man in question onto the floor. _Just as good as you after all._

Easier than expected did not mean simple. It meant that instead of all those files over Holmes' schedule, his life, his routines and habits and smoke breaks and restaurant reservations and room code and biosecurity measures and who fucking who even _knew_ what else were practically useless. It meant he didn't have to sit and puzzle through the coded shorthand of his (ex)boss's notes and figure out what he'd run through and what he'd decided was trash already. To Sebastian's immense surprise, he didn't have to do any of the mind-numbing desk work that made him want to shoot himself. _Irony, that._ No scouting locations for weeks, no long nights fueled by coffee and smokes while he watched some building. No; Mycroft Holmes ended up practically hand-delivered to his doorstep. He would have thought it a bit too easy if the notice for Holmes' 'bereavement' (Antarctica, feeling mopey and sad? Laughable) leave hadn't come from one of the last remaining plants in the man's office. He'd triple-checked the information posted, one of the many alerts Moriarty had set up being tripped by the poster and he had jumped onto it immediately. There was a vague recollection of Jim whining about this guy but Jim had whined about a lot of things, so he didn't quite recall _why_.

And a good tip it'd been too. 

Sebastian nudged the unconscious form with the toe of his boot, sighing. Maybe he'd done a bit too heavy-handed with the tranqs. But he wasn't _dead_ so it obviously wasn't too much. Bit of a letdown though. He'd expected him to fight back a tiny bit, or at least be a bit more lucid. Not just... pass out dead like that. It wasn't much fun knocking the teeth out of something that didn't fight back. He made quick work of stripping the man down, not bothering to deal with the buttons or preserve anything; he'd gotten him on his way out of town and had a whole suitcase _if_ he needed it. Not that Sebastian thought he would, 'cept for when he was leaving after. The chains might've been a bit extreme but there was no guarantee what the man would eventually shift into and Sebastian knew from experience that having your arms bound behind your back like that, manacles nice and tight (who cared about his wrists?) would hurt like a motherfucker if he did take on the first bite and shift, regardless of the form. 

Freckles. A smattering of _ginger_ hair. 

Son of a bitch. That was a little funny and cute, getting a huff of a chuckle out of him. A smattering of scars (real nasty fucker on the guy’s chest), not that he really cared to investigate them. He should be moving more, waking up maybe, by now. Was he on something? He didn't _think_ any of the things in the various medical records would fuck with the tranq he'd picked, but... it'd be his damn luck if it did. That'd have been nice to know before shooting him in the arse with enough tranqs to knock someone of Sebastian's size out. Maybe he'd die. Sebastian placed a calloused palm over Mycroft's mouth, feeling the warm (but slow) breaths. Well. Might as well see if he does wake up. If not, there was always the old broad, as irritating as that would be. "Don't die on me, please." He asked, content with the position and state he'd left the man in. Laying on the cool floor, the room bare and grey concrete, nude as the day he'd been when he'd entered the world. It wasn't necessarily the _worst_ view, but the drool was a bit of a turn-off and he'd never been too much into the whole drugged unconscious thing. Bit of bite was nice, lick of fire. 

He'd planned to leave him there and check back the next morning, but... well, he didn't _want_ him to die. Sebastian had big plans for the man and having a seizure and choking on his tongue wasn't one of those things. With an annoyed look on his face, he drug one of the kitchen table chairs into the room, far enough back that even if Holmes charged he wouldn't be able to reach with the amount of chain given to him. A plastic bucket with the handle removed sat on the floor next to him, easy to throw in the direction of the man if he started to hurl. And so, with a book in hand (Cibola, an entertaining if not at all accurate pound land thriller) Sebastian settled in. Damn good thing he hadn't made plans tonight.

\--

Mycroft drifted slowly up to wakefulness in the usual fashion for heavy anesthesia- moments of clarity and a lot of drifting, wandering thoughts.

 _I’m going to be miserable when I wake up._ He idly wondered what he was in surgery for… he couldn’t recall…

He thought he’d been on route to give a briefing and deliver some material to Sherlock? That … must be some time ago, then, and something happened and he was under anesthesia: _hopefully this is much later and nothing happened on the mission._

Sherlock trying to play Robin Hood- instead of pirates for once- and getting shot with an arrow replayed in his memory- _my shoulders hurt...did Sherlock shoot me when I arrived?_ Sherlock had been less distant lately- _he needed my help, was willing to ask for my help for a change…_

Mycroft found himself hoping Sherlock had shot him because of his horrible trigger discipline and not on purpose- or because he was using again.

_-Sherlock screaming at him in a paranoid drugged high about people coming to get him…_

...Mycroft eventually fell back into the dark.

There was a voice every now and then; sometimes he made out words- it sounded like a medic who wasn’t used to red-heads and anesthesia. His arms hurt and his shoulders hurt and he must be coming out of it to feel pain at all. The bed felt like concrete and the sheets felt like sandpaper: _I must be having a really bad reaction to the drugs._

From a distance he heard, “Don’t die on me, please,” in a beautiful voice, a bit rough from stress- _must be an emergency medic? One of the agents? He had a nice voice..._

Mycroft managed to drag his eyes open briefly and saw a very good looking man sitting on a chair reading a novel… _combat medic? Oh, former SAS and on guard duty? Something_ …

…

Mycroft realized he was awake- mostly- and had been throwing up for a while. He managed to wonder why they hadn’t administered an anti-emetic but then he was busy being sick again: the medic was trying to help…

His arms hurt and he couldn't move them? His shoulders pulled back…he must have been injured in the shoulder or back then.

He managed to thank the medic for his help and ask for water and blacked out again.

\--

This was... horrible. Not in an 'I feel guilty' way, but more in a... 'wow, I expected this to be a bit more fun' way. He'd had such high expectations of Holmes; all the times that the 'Iceman' had been talked up by Jim, all the secrecy and status. He didn't know why, why he had expected a bit more... well, poise, maybe. A bit less 'pathetic vomiting'. Did that speak to his inexperience in this bit? Yes, probably. Wasn't supposed to be his job, this. Jim'd wanted to do it _personally_. He was certain _he_ hadn't looked like that when- _flashes of pain and darkness and drips of water and--_

That train of thought was shaken away but it'd already done the damage. _Now_ he felt a small measure of guilt; there were standards he liked to hold himself to and things he didn't like doing (things he disliked and things he refused to do, the line wobbling at times) and now that line was stating it preferred to be back there a bit and he was left with the tinge of guilt from it. Fucking hell, this was _not_ his job and not what he'd-- 

The bucket was emptied during the lulls when Holmes seemed to drift back out, rinsed out and brought back clean. Sebastian turned from 'kidnapper' to 'nurse' in a span of less than a day and he spent the time not helping Mycroft mentally kicking himself. He should have read the files anyway, he should have used a different drug... Cool water with a ridiculously bright and bendy cocktail straw because it was the only thing he had and he wasn't going to let Holmes dribble water all over himself (one more thing to clean). A bowl of ice chips that he replaced regularly, a larger towel that he kept slung around the man's shoulders, another spread out beneath him. A damp rag to wipe him down, a juice box (apple) for sugars. Sebastian ended up abandoning the chair (the height difference and power imbalance that he'd actually thought about, down the drain!) and sitting beside Holmes, the man leaning against him. It was easier to manage when he started another round of vomiting when he was close, his book set aside while he held the bucket with one hand, the other brushing the man's hair back from his face. 

There was lots of mumbling going on, about... 80% of it he didn't even understand, things about... well, he was fairly certain he heard Sherlock's name a few times, something about being shot(?), the occasional mumbled 'thank you' (definitely hallucinations or dreams, he doubted he'd get many thanks once the man was lucid). Sebastian kept a series of low conversations going, mostly softly-murmured phrases of praise and reassurance. Nothing substantial, nothing important. He wouldn't let the man just... die of dehydration, or choke in his own vomit... No. Mycroft Holmes was important and there were _big_ plans for him. 

\--

Mycroft eventually registered that his shoulders and arms hurt because they had been restrained behind his back: he realized that when they were re-secured in front of him- it was unpleasant and he hissed in pain but then unfortunately his attention was back to trying to keep anything down.

At least with his arms in front of him he could - somewhat- keep himself from falling face-first into a mess, or onto the cell floor.

When he could focus enough to make sense of things he realized that the combat medic? Hadn’t left his side for long… and… he… Mycroft tried to rub at his head to make his mind work- a useless habit but there nonetheless- and… _metal cuffs?_

Mycroft frowned in confusion at the metal cuffs on his wrists- absolutely not hospital restraints. He focused on the bare concrete floor, his own nudity- _a severe problem_ …

But the combat medic? The man who was caring for him? _He was dressed, but he was far more dangerous…_

Mycroft couldn't quite get his mind to focus- _dehydration, likely despite any efforts to the contrary_. “Are you a prisoner too?" he asked- well he hadn’t MEANT to say it out loud, but he did.

The medic _? No… no, he had some training but he wasn’t a medic…_ folded down the corner of the page he was on and set it aside: Mycroft tried not to get irritated at such cavalier treatment of a book, it was only a mass-market novel of some kind, but it still bothered him. He had rather blurted out, "Why didn't they restrain you?" just as his mind finally- FINALLY!- processed what he had been seeing and hearing since regaining consciousness.

Before he could react, the - _soldier, SAS? Sniper probably?_ \- answered, "Mm, nah and it'd be a bit hard to tie my own wrists."

Mycroft stared at the man and forced his mind to focus: _SAS, former- disgraced in some fashion?-mercenary? No, reassess later when my headache receded… killer, sniper, hand to hand… some things did NOT add up, not at all…_

“If the objective was to kill me, you wouldn’t have let me wake up. If the objective is to gain information from me, you are wasting your time. If you intend to try to get a ransom I doubt it will succeed, but you should have taken greater pains with my hydration.”

He hadn’t meant to say anything else but between the pounding headache, and the nausea and thirst he ended up blurting out, “Electrolyte solution- diluted- is far more effective as you would know from your service- Colonel? Yes, Colonel- and you shouldn't treat a book that way even if it is merely an inexpensive one from the airport bookstore.”

He fell back onto the concrete and pulled his arms over his eyes, “And either shoot me and get it over with, or get me a painkiller, now that I can keep one down.”


	2. Downstairs, Upstairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is NOT a nurse... he isn't a kidnapper either. Can Mycroft use that to his advantage? 
> 
> (Of course)

Oh good, he hadn't killed him. He'd even taken the time on one of the trips upstairs to skim through the numerous medical files he had on the man to make sure he hadn't accidentally given him something he was allergic to, only for that to be a bust (why did Jim decide to keep a whole folder of fake medical files?). He wasn't the best at this nursing thing; he could fix himself up just fine but minor stab wounds and dislocations were different from whatever the fuck Holmes had going on… especially now that nearly any injury he had would heal from a shift or two... He was almost a bit glad when the man started to actually talk, clearly more lucid, carefully putting his book aside and giving a nonchalant response about hand-tying. 

And then he'd started to get snippy and all... self-important and acting like he was the position to make demands and Sebastian couldn't help but give a crooked grin, the attitude (despite the slight slurring and obvious lack of focus) reminding him a bit of Jim's. Not nearly enough venom, though. "Mm, wait til you see me start writing in the margins. Have a real aneurism then," He rolled his neck and shoulders, working out the kinks from leaning against the hard wall for so long. "Got more money than I need, ta, and you've not got any information I want either. Office's a sieve and you gotta admit, don't _really_ look like the type to need anything you could offer, do I?" 

The 'Colonel' bit made his smile crack a bit, blue eyes rolling as he stood. "Don't get to call me _'colonel'_ 'less you're flirting with me. And trust me, I'm flattered, really- dig a good redhead and some freckles and a snazzy dresser- but we should probably keep this professional." Damnit. He was not going to be goaded into-- the pained groan got him and Sebastian snagged the fallen towel and draped it over Mycroft's nude form. Nurse. He’d gone from badass captor to _nurse_. Christ. "Take anythin' or will you get all sick if I'm not careful?"

\--

Mycroft rather reflexively gave him a list of mild painkillers he could take, and reiterated the need for electrolyte solution if he was to keep anything down…

He didn’t realize he’d recited the WHO formula of sugar salt and water at the man until after he was gone.

Mycroft set himself to trying to think around a screaming migraine. _The man had reacted somewhat oddly to the military rank, which might be because he was in disgrace; he was arrogant and cocksure and…_ Mycroft only realized his mind had wandered when he found himself wondering if the fellow knew Sherlock.

He forced himself back on topic. _He said my office leaked like a sieve?_ Mycroft turned the expressions and tone over in his mind- _no, he meant that_. The idea that he thought his office leaked that badly was a serious problem, but something to be investigated when he got back to said office.

The way the man spoke indicated he was operating solo: he was the one responsible for his restraints and for keeping him- whether or not he had had help with the kidnapping- and he had to leave to get drinks, towels, and so on… so likely no other guards?

_Made no bloody sense at all._

Well, he would simply have to start on the usual counterintelligence gathering and wait: his people should be able to find him soon enough.

The fellow came back with drinks- and no, he hadn't been hallucinating- a child's straw.

“I’m still not thinking very clearly,” Mycroft said- which was to help put the fellow’s guard down but had the added benefit of being the truth. “I have no idea what you used but it made me even more ill than normal anesthesia, and that’s saying something.” He raised an eyebrow at the man. “And if you don’t want to be called Colonel then perhaps you should tell me your name.”

\--

It was a _little_ insulting to be ordered about like Holmes was the one in charge here (and it absolutely sounded like an order, despite the roughness of his voice or the lack of a real 'demanding' attitude) but... well, fuck, he _did_ need to get the guy something. They'd lost a day to the drugs so far and he wasn't sure how long it'd take Mycroft to get to a stage of being able to stand on his own. According to the information he'd bought, Holmes was supposed to be clear for bereavement for up to a month… keyword being "up to", a vague timeline and no guarantee how long it'd take to infect the man... (Some seemed more naturally resistant to the bite, taking repeated 'doses' until it took) and then the time it'd take to get him under control and to know how to shift, how to get used to things and hide it... Sebastian expected Mycroft to be a fast learner, but still... He needed all the time he could get and he knew this was one of those problems that needed to be dealt with delicately. If he was too aggressive or cruel, then it'd only bolster Mycroft's beliefs against weres... Damn good thing he had steady hands and enough patience grown from dealing with another asshole in a suit. 

Fresh cup (plastic, because he had a habit of forgetting how far his tail reached and knocked dishware off the counters one too many times), fresh straw... A dose of one of the things Mycroft had listed off, electrolyte mixture (okay, maybe he did mess up not having that ready...)

Sebastian crouched down to Mycroft's level, holding the pill out and letting the man take it and a drink, keeping the straw within reach so he could lean and drink as he wanted. "Sebastian," he offered, "Sebastian Moran, at your service." He was going directly against all the training he'd ever gotten for situations like this; offering information without expecting any in return, but... Well, they were practically going to be housemates for a while. Mycroft would, without a doubt, learn much more. Offering the minor things up would save them all some time and make him appear more approachable, really. He rattled off the long name to a drug, "Normally only used for were tranqs, but there was no guarantee you weren't a were. Much as I trust the info I've got, I wasn't gonna risk getting a faceful of claws if you were hiding something." He let Mycroft take another drink, holding the cup steady. _And either way, you deserved to feel those drugs you’ve used on us._

"Lemme know when you think you can keep something solid down, we'll get you cleaned up and some food in you. Stocked up real well, so should be set unless you've got any allergies."

\--

Mycroft had no idea how to react to the concept that he- of all people- might be a were. This did imply that the man had no idea what he DID- he could hardly be a top-level analyst if he was a were!

"I suppose... your... employer didn't give you many details of my- about me: I could not possibly be a were, but I suppose you couldn't know that." 

He didn't really want to deal with any of this but he desperately wanted to clean up- and actual food if he could keep it down- he found himself musing out loud: "I expect that cleaning up will help me to keep at least more liquid down… no matter how much I would very much LIKE real food I suspect it will have to wait..."

\--

"You never know, be surprised at how good they are at hiding. Besides, it'd be just my luck that I'd manage to get the one fancy pants who was one." Sebastian shrugged, setting the glass down onto the floor and out of the way. He carefully sidestepped the implied comment about his... 'employer' (what, couldn't he work alone? The nerve.) 

"We can see how you are after a shower. Legs feel steady? Already hauled your arse down here, be nothing to haul it back up." 

\--

Mycroft could see the man bristle about his employer, but couldn't quite figure out why? _Still important to defuse any tension…_

"Simply that you obviously have insufficient or inaccurate intelligence for the mission- however well suited you were to carrying it out...Mister? Moran." Mycroft tried to get up and rapidly realized that his balance was not yet up to it from a floor with nothing to use as leverage. "I have no idea if my legs are steady, but I will need help standing from the floor- also my arms haven't recovered from being behind my back- I could feel the strain on my shoulders when I attempted to use them."

\--

Inaccurate intelligence? Bastard-- "Mm, you know, next time we can swap. You see how easy it is to nab me with three days' notice and we can compare notes after." The playful wink hopefully made the irritation in his voice less threatening; he had no desire to make the man afraid of him (but really, if he was…) A calloused hand gripped Mycroft's forearm as Sebastian carefully rose to his feet, keeping his other hand near Mycroft's waist so he could steady him if he started to wobble. 

"Mm, yeah, thought you'd recover faster." A shrug, "Don't let it affect my score too much, normally I shoot to kill, not to incapacitate." 

\--

 _Even more upset?... and... trying to not show it..._ Mycroft kept silent as he was guided out of the 'cell' (which however admirably suited to BE a cell seemed to be just a room in a basement with a very sturdy door- possibly an old storage cellar or wine cellar…) he shook himself clear of the distraction as he was helped up the stairs.

"I... did say you were obviously well suited to carrying out the mission, so I am uncertain why you take your employer's fault so personally: it is simply if you had more information you would have known that I could not possibly be a were..."

And then he was inundated with nearly overwhelming data as they came up into the main house.

_Safehouse- dusty- unused- an owner hunted and suspicious of everyone- uncaring of design or patterns (most of this room had had furniture removed for clear access but not replaced) - one comfortable chair and a reading table and lamp used more often than the rest- old books- tracks in the carpeting indicate this place was empty for approximately 1.5 years and then utilized recently to prepare for my arrival--_

His head spun and he nearly threw up again and only managed not to by closing his eyes immediately- cutting off the input.


	3. Just good, clean...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous bathing.

Mycroft practically swooned and Sebastian was quick to tighten his grip on him, his other hand coming up to wrap around his waist and steady him, even as the man squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his shirt. It knocked a bit of the irritation away about the whole... insistence on the 'boss' thing, the repeated reminders _not_ helping his mood, but he was a professional and he wouldn't take it out on someone who couldn't even _fight back_ yet.

He winced in sympathy, remembering how fucked up he'd been when he was shot up on that trash. "I know," he said softly, "The wallpaper's awful. Meanin' to fix it but who's got time for that, really?" He joked, trying to distract the man. Sebastian was careful to guide them towards the bathroom, carefully letting Mycroft know as they stepped into the room (a shallow but pesky lip on the floor). "Big step here, hopping into the tub." The bathroom was just opposite the 'master' bedroom (is it master if it's the only bedroom?), an older style space that, like the rest of the house, didn't look like it'd been renovated since the mid-eighties. "Alright, you get the choice here. Quick rinse and a scrub or a full shower. If it's a full shower, I'll be joining because I don't trust that you won't crack your skull open yet. Fair warning." 

\--

Mycroft swallowed hard, remembering... past history.

"I would prefer to be as clean as possible...but..." he hesitated and then calculated quickly: the soldier seemed disinclined to hurt him, but was easily and unpredictably annoyed…

He took a deep breath and shivered, "I was tortured in the far distant days of my youth- covering my nose or mouth in combination with water will likely cause me to... react."

Mycroft braced for another unpredictable response- wondering what he would do...

\--

His brow furrowed, as he thought over Mycroft's words. "Mmm..." He absently gnawed at the corner of his lower lip, eyes glancing at the showerhead and back to Mycroft. "Alright, how's this sound? We'll do your head last, so keep your neck up outta the spray, then give plenty of warning when you've gotta get your head wet." He shrugged, completely understanding the issue. He hadn't expected Holmes to have issues like that (certainly didn't look like he'd ever spent a day away from his desk, at least when he was clothed… that chest scar said otherwise) but Sebastian could easily sympathize. There was a reason he normally wasn't supposed to do... kidnappings or the torture bits; a few things hit too close to home and sent him back a bit. "And when we get to that step, if you're feeling hesitant on it, tell me. We can go for a whore's bath: I'll get a cup and you can sit on the edge of the tub." 

\--

Mycroft couldn't stop the snicker from the rather unexpected and incongruous ‘whore's bath’ line.

"I consider it unlikely to cause issues, unless my... breathing is obstructed, but I am restrained, you are a combatant, and this is water..." he cautiously opened his eyes and dared a look around…

_Soldier- depressed? -Angry- insufficiently clean- some kind of debris or hair in the tub- used towel hanging on the bar (smudge of grease from weapons maintenance and then cleaning hands)_

Mycroft closed his eyes. "Still too much input."

He swallowed hard, "I... think the best idea would be for me to sit on a CLEAN towel on a seat or toilet, while you clean the tub out since it seems dirty... and... perhaps I could drink some more electrolytes." He considered the fellow: "I am unlikely to attempt to bolt, given that I can't open my eyes, but you could lock my cuffs to something, while I had more to drink?"

\--

If there was any evidence that Holmes wasn't dying on his feet, it was the slight huff of breath and the barely-there* _giggle_ (no other word to describe it) at... him? His idea? His phrasing? Sebastian wasn't entirely sure but it meant good things, really, that he felt some level of 'comfort' as to not feel like he'd be smacked around for the snort. 

He frowned. Too much...? _Oh!_ Like Jim, after he had his migraines or when things would get a bit more wild and he'd wake up with a hangover, pissy and hissing like- 

Sebastian slammed the door shut on that train of thought, quickly glancing around at the things Mycroft had issues with. Fucking hell, giving orders to clean to the guy holding him captive? Big balls on this one. _Were all geniuses picky?_ "That's-" He had to clear his throat, disliking how his throat felt a bit 'lumpy' after that rather abrupt trip down memory lane. "Yeah, I've got some bits." Sebastian was careful to gently maneuver Mycroft so he could lean against the wall, "Be a good lad and stay here while I grab some fresh things from the hall closet. I'll give you one warning, Holmes," his voice hardened a bit, "Much as I'd like to keep this simple and nice, if you do try to run, I'll fix it so you won't be able to. I don't mind carrying an invalid around for as long as this takes." Mycroft gave a very convincing nod of agreement and Sebastian grinned, bringing a hand up and ruffling the much-needed-cleaning hair like he would a cat. "Good. Don't move, I'll be right back." 

And he was- a fresh plastic cup and straw, several clean towels (one that he sat on the toilet and guided Mycroft down on, handing him the cup once he was seated. The tub was quick to clean out; he was glad Mycroft clearly wasn't fully functioning yet-- the hair in the tub with the wrong shades for his own, his face a bit red at the sheer _idiocy_ that had possessed him to relax one night with far too much bubble bath. "Tub's done, should be up to your standards, Your Highness." The tease fell from his lips with a familiarity that Sebastian didn't quite like; quickly reminding himself how this was supposed to go. _Make him trust you. Do not trust **him.**_

\--

_Clearly, he was to hold me until his employer arrived- 'as long as this takes':_ Mycroft nodded agreement as much as he could without disturbing his delicate equilibrium. Moran went out and came back and Mycroft gratefully sat on what certainly seemed like a clean towel and drank more electrolytes while he heard the man cleaning up.

The teasing tone of 'Your Highness" seemed so genuine that without thinking he replied in kind.

"Well if I am not to call you Colonel, Mister Moran, I believe we could dispense with the titles on my part as well."

He froze, wondering if this would be another thing that would trigger the man's mercurial moods.

\--

Don't tease back. 

That's not the point of all this. 

Don't you _dare_ fucking tease back, you're latching onto him because he's injured _(you did that!)_ and he's the first person you haven't had to play pretend around in weeks. 

Do not tease back, Moran, don't you fucking open- "No, I said you're not to call me Colonel 'less you're flirting. Didn't say you weren't allowed to use it all." _Moron_.

As if to cover his blunder and his run-away mouth, Sebastian quickly continued- "Finish your glass and then we'll get you clean. I can figure out what would be fine to take with what you've already taken; maybe help with the head a bit more." 

\--

There was an unsettling silence, made more so by his inability to see the man's reactions and he braced for almost anything…

Except that.

His first reaction was to be relieved the man wasn't angry- again- and then he felt himself blush... _God DAMN it, and with all his skin showing...\_

For the first time ever in his life, Mycroft hoped he was actually covered in as much dirt as he felt like he was- at least that way he wouldn't be VISIBLY blushing like a child

the curse of his red hair.

\--

Sebastian was glad that he didn't have to deal with meeting Holmes' eyes; he had that same, horribly wonderful all-knowing look at times as Jim had had, and he didn't think he could stand having that look draped over him, even if it was a hundred shades different than the dark oil-slick of his (ex)boss's gaze. 

It also meant he could feel a bit less guilty about the way he took far too many glances _(he had to make sure he wasn't going to run off!)_ back towards the man as he heated up the shower water, careful to not let it get too hot. 

_You are an idiot._

_You are an idiot getting played by **yet another** genius with good taste in clothes._

But- the way that flush spread down his neck and chest, making freckles (and dirt) pop out against pale skin... 

_Idiot._

"Right," He said, clearing his throat as he made sure to avert his eyes (he was _not_ going to be caught staring!). "You'll be going in first, so just enjoy the soak. I'll say something so I don't scare ya when I'm about the follow, 'kay?" Mycroft's cup was moved to the sink counter and he was careful where he touched as he guided the man over the edge of the tub and into far back of the shower (so Mycroft could move forward to the spray as much as desired). 

\--

Mycroft's ear caught the tell tales of... embarrassment? Possibly interest, but... Hmmm.

However, he was soon focused on trying to keep his balance in a bathtub without being able to open his eyes or move his hands apart- something which took up an unprecedented amount of processing power in his opinion.

He did his best to cautiously move and turn under the spray, wondering if Moran was... watching…

GOD DAMN IT.

He could feel the embarrassment heating his skin and focused on keeping his balance and showering off as much as he could with just water.

He heard him say something- a _nd yes he had a very nice voice, yes Mycroft; now damn it DEDUCE... that's English, obviously, not far out of London by upbringing, upper class?! roughened after years away from home- if that man hadn't gone to Oxford or similar he would eat a bar of soap…_

And then the man was in the tub with him…

And this bathtub was ENTIRELY too small for two adult men who were not extremely close friends.

\--

He should have thought about this. 

He should have just left the man in the cellar and dumped a few buckets of water on him. 

But hindsight was 20/20 and Mycroft was already under the shower and Sebastian was a fool and trying to stay as far away from him as possible. 

Which was not very easy because the tub was old and sloped at the front and the back so someone could soak easier (very effective, as he'd found out) so he was forced to stay far too close. He could hardly tell if the heat he was feeling was radiating off Mycroft's slowly-pinkening skin or the water. The soap - _idiotidiotidiot_ \- was on this damn little lip thing past Mycroft and just out of reach of Sebastian's arm should he try to just reach for it from where he was and he almost considered just ending his life then and there but no- this was for the good of his kind. He could handle this. _He'd fought a **tiger,** damnit!_ "Careful," he cautioned, winding an arm around Mycroft's waist as he leaned forward to snag the soap. Do not think about warm wet skin. Do _not!_ "Soap was in a bad spot," he hoped the excuse didn't fall flat and he was quick to unwrap his arm once the prize was secured. "Back first, yeah?" Yeah. He needed to settle his nerves. "Clean flannel," he wasn't sure if Mycroft had seen him bring in the bundles of towels and for _some_ reason he wanted to make sure the man knew he was keeping his preferences in mind. (And not other things.) 

\--

If there was any justice in the world you could actually die of embarrassment.

There was no justice in the world.

The dangerously unpredictable man with the attractive voice and far too many muscles had stepped into the shower, wrapped his arm around him and reached for the soap, and was now… scrubbing his back.

And when he’d been pressed up against Mycroft, Mycroft couldn't help but gain far more data:

_Scars on his chest, bad enough to be noticeable even against the less sensitive skin of my back- some level of arousal, probably not to me, but the proximity of naked skin…_

Mycroft tried to talk, managed to clear his throat- Moran stopped wiping his back. “I am… Ah… I may need to open my eyes for my balance- the tub you understand… if the shower curtain is opaque enough it should… be sufficient?”

The man leaned forward and damn near PURRED in his ear that he hadn’t expected him to close his eyes…

“Yes, well… you… seem to get upset at things… when I don’t intend any…” Mycroft gave himself a firm talking to and forced his voice back to level. “I didn’t want you to be surprised or upset.”

Mycroft opened his eyes and stared at the tile and fixtures in front of him- and his cuffed hands braced on the wall for balance.

The cuffs were VERY solid- almost overkill- but at least not likely to cut into his wrists- although he was certain that he had been restrained with his arms behind him for some time.

Mycroft cursed the weakness of it, but… _it might also help his relationship with his captor? Or it could make it worse… damn insufficient information_ \- “Ah, Col- Mister Moran, if… it would be possible to … either work at my shoulders or aim the shower spray at them it would be most appreciated- they still hurt from being restrained back, as do my arms and.. Well…” he found himself trailing off wondering what Moran would do.

Apparently what he DID was to start rubbing the soapy cloth into his shoulders with a bit more vigor- which both hurt and felt wonderful: Mycroft leaned his forehead into the tiles and tried not to let his body fool him into thinking this was in any way anything but his captor keeping him in good condition for delivery… Unfortunately, the man was VERY good at this and it felt wonderful as his muscles finally unknotted- he hoped that moan of relief was inaudible over the shower.

Very embarrassingly, the man was washing down across some private parts - Mycroft knew it was needed, but he spent the entire time biting his lip and staring at the tile- _last updated sometime in the 80s and untouched since then_ \- while trying to ignore the washcloth and the man who… must be kneeling or crouching down behind him to wash his legs…

Mycroft cursed how pale and doughy he must look next to the soldier- ex-soldier- whose fitness was clearly still at top levels- and how filthy and embarrassing this all was.

\--

_The Colt M45A1 was a single-action hammer-fired semi-auto with a twelve-centimeter barrel length and--_

Oh GOD do _not_ make that noise again

Focus, damnit! 

_Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war/ how to divide the conquest of thy sight/ mine eye my heart thy picture's-_

Fucking hell. He should have gagged the man. 

_NO do NOT think about gagging the man--_

Sebastian had to force himself to ignore the comment about how he got annoyed at things _(I hate you with every fibre of my being and you are the reason the greatest man I have ever known is dead- that's a damn good reason to be annoyed)_ because he wasn't going to think about that now. (It was not because Mycroft was astoundingly _human_ and not the godlike monster of a man he'd made him up to be.)

There was another soft noise when he went back over the man's shoulders and Sebastian had to swallow _hard_ before he could speak- "Back's done. Gimme a slow spin..." He carefully steadied Mycroft with a hand on his shoulder and another on his waist until he was spun to face him and goddamn Sebastian was glad his eyes were closed because he was not going to be caught staring, mouth gaping comically like a fish out of water. 

Even if the man had fairly nice skin; soft yet smattered with enough scarring (his chest--) to tell that there was more than a desk-bound life that Holmes had led. Pale too, but not sickly pale, more like... that kinda paleness that'd glow from the morning sun kissing across his skin in bed, a paleness that would portray any anger or frustration or embarrassment with a wash of color. Add an aristocratic nose and Sebastian had already had the pleasure of running the cloth and his hands along those damn colt legs; things went on for bloody ages-- 

Fuck! No. Stop! Jesus christ he needed to get a rebound or something because this was ridiculous. The man was _not_ attractive. He was an enemy. Leave it the hell alone, Moran! 

Mycroft was obviously a bit unsteady on his feet; not having the tile to grab and having his eyes pinched shut, lower lip being bitten down on- Sebastian's words felt a bit jarring in the soft warmth of the shower, this oddly intimate, _absolutely_ not-charged atmosphere... "Steady now," the hand not holding the cloth grabbed Mycroft's hands, bringing them up to rest on his chest- idiotidiotidiot -"No skulls getting cracked open from slipping. Just focus on not passing out on me, and I'll-" Oh god, why did his voice sound a bit rougher there? "-make sure you don't fall, yeah?" His hand, separated by the sudsy cloth, ran down the man’s neck and to his chest in broad swipes, making him half wonder how it would feel without the cloth, the texture of that scar by his heart, the pale star on his shoulder- “You should go to a masseuse-” Mouth. Stop! “You’re-” And now he was floundering, lovely. “You’ve got a lot of tension. Prolly help if you got a deep-tissue massage every now and then, someone to work the knots out.” 

\--

Mycroft desperately kept his eyes shut, whatever he might see would be worse than his imagination he was certain. The man had turned him gently and he was too close, and oh GOD he could almost convince himself…

Mycroft Holmes, this man kidnapped and drugged you and even permitting yourself to imagine that this is friendly is… not at all helpful; especially since he is going to be handing you off to his employer if your rescue doesn't arrive soon.

And then his hands were brought up and placed on Sebastian Moran’s chest…

And Moran was too close to his scar- too old wounds and betrayal and… Mycroft refused to believe he was even capable of crying so he wasn’t.

“You should go to a masseuse…” Sebastian said it roughly and then he hesitated, “You’ve got a lot of tension. Prolly help if you got a deep-tissue massage every now and then, someone to work the knots out.” 

Mycroft absolutely did not DARE open his eyes because he was not crying with the memory of someone who he trusted and he thought… not- absolutely not.

“I am sad to say…'' he cleared his throat to try to get rid of the rough edge of - _I am not crying for God’s sake it's just an anesthesia reaction_ \- “That finding anyone I can trust to do so has… been an issue.”

His hands splayed open for balance on Sebastian Moran’s chest and he could feel a devastating scar- it must have nearly killed him: likely some kind of shrapnel- it contrasted with the unmarred skin beautifully and he didn't realize he was using his hands to map the scar on the man’s chest until he heard a rather rough voiced request for him to stop…

“My apologies… I-” he opened his eyes, because you look at a man when you apologize for such intrusion, and met blue eyes and worry lines- and smile lines: _guilt, anger, desire?, hatred/worry/lust- over a nature more inclined to…_

“‘Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war/ how to divide the conquest of thy sight’…” Mycroft found the poem coming unbidden to mind, something in the way the man’s eyes held such conflicting emotions…

\--

The hands on his chest spread, delicate but strong fingers tracing over the mottled scar tissue as if the muscles of his chest were the keys of a piano; as if Mycroft was preparing to play a melody out on his body. It was shockingly bold and it had been _weeks_ since he'd last felt a touch like that-

_nails just lightly scraping along his scar, the warmth of a slender form against him, the low chuckle because he'd said something that had made the man grin up at him-- the sharp bursts of pleasure and pain from nails digging into the skin and the nerves below, hungry eyes that burned like cigarettes_

It was intense and far too much and far too unwanted and without even thinking his hand shot up, grabbing and stilling those horrible fingers. "Stop." God his voice sounded far too rough and took a deep breath before trying again. "Please don't-" _please touch me_ "Just... Not a good idea, yeah?" He'd kept his eyes on the cloth as he'd cleaned, very aware of the skin beneath and very much not wanting to actually 'view' anything- _be a gentleman_ -but now he was finding himself forced to looking at Mycroft's face- _that was water they were in a shower there was no roughness in his voice and there was no trace of sadness he didn't have **feelings,** Moran- he was just a pawn_\- and Sebastian felt his lips move without permission, eyes locked on the winter-skies looking back at him. "'My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie/A closet never pierc’d with crystal eyes...'" He added, feeling his face heat (it was not the temperature of the water doing that). 

How had Mycroft...?

No. 

It didn't matter. 

Sebastian let go of the grip he'd had on Mycroft's hand, carefully moving the man's bound hands away from his chest. "I-" The prattle fell easy from his lips, nervous babble to hopefully whisk away... what that had been. "I know a lady," he said, carefully wringing the soapy rag off, "My... um, get a lot of issues in winter, someone-'' _Jim_ "-set me up with this tiny old broad, nasty mean little hands. Beats the shit outta my chest when it gets tight, I'll give you her number before you head off. Like'er cuz she's strong as a mule but she's blind so no wanderin' eyes and I'm fairly certain I could take her in a fight if she tries anything." Smooth jokes and casual conversation; things that had no real substance but covered uncomfortable moments. He was easily a master at hiding behind easy-going smiles and jokes. "Up to try hair? Or can always do it tomorrow, get some food in you tonight and send you off to sleep." 

\--

Mycroft barely heard what Sebastian said about… some masseuse? And then he was asking about his hair or food and… oh GOD he wanted to have his hair thoroughly clean and he wasn’t hungry at all…

“I… think I would prefer-” and he looked back over his shoulder toward the showerhead and the world tilted oddly…

He heard Sebastian say something in an alarmed fashion and then the world shifted under his feet…

He had just time to think _‘Syncopal episode, too long without food- still dehydrated-’_ and he was… not unconscious but certainly not completely conscious either.

Strong arms were lifting him up and murmuring something- asking about his heart?

“De...hydration… and… hypoglycemia, more likely…” he managed to say, “And the migraines… vestibular migraine...”

And he was moving and so damn dizzy…


	4. Things To Leave Out Of A Debrief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, one of us better get dressed...

If he ever had to kidnap the man again, Sebastian was going to just politely call ahead and ask if he would just be good so Sebastian didn't have to drug or haul or do anything. Mycroft seemed the agreeable sort, surely he'd see the benefits of coming quietly and then Sebastian wouldn't be running about, arse and dick out, getting the man more liquids- more sugar/saltwater solution, a fresh cup and straw, carefully set on the small side table by the recliner that he had depositing Mycroft on. High arms so he didn't think he'd roll off if he got antsy, and he might be a fool if Mycroft was faking but... well, he would rather not have the man keel over and wither away on him. He could have his hands free, and Sebastian would keep his promise if he tried to run. 

It was only after the third trip to the kitchen and back- he'd had chicken thawing for his own dinner, but he'd gladly toss it into the pot with a few other things, something quick and simple but hopefully settling- to realize that he should probably stop and put on clothes at some point, because he was certain most people didn't wander about naked at home. There wasn't much he could _do_ other than get Mycroft something to drink, a plastic bowl of cucumber slices, (hydrating, settling on the stomach, he hoped) while he was waiting for things to finish cooking so he took stripping down the bed... (hair... everywhere...) and replacing the sheets and blankets with the spares he'd bought for the basement. Mycroft had said 'migraine' so Sebastian's mind immediately went into 'find the medication', because he was fairly used to dealing with those at this point... And there, tucked into his smaller side-bag was his medication. Sebastian paled a bit at the fact that he recognized most of the types of migraine medications, another reminder of things that seemed to be swarming him the last few days... 

But Mycroft couldn't- shouldn't, take anything without having something more in his stomach. 

It felt like it took longer than the half-hour or so it took for the chicken and rice soup to cook, but eventually he'd managed to get to a point he liked... (He woulda slow-cooked the chicken normally, but... any shelter in a storm)

Mycroft didn't protest the way Sebastian moved him to bed (less having to move after eating), now getting far too used to carrying the man bridal style... and Sebastian, never one for missing out on any opportunity to be foolish, decided to leave his hands unbound. Mycroft was not going to be in any state to attack him (with what? The plastic spoon?) anytime soon and he'd chain'em before bed... 

"Eat," a gentle command with the plastic spoon being held up near Mycroft's lips. "Can't dose you with anything on an empty stomach." He'd propped the man's back up with several clean pillows, carefully manhandled him into a pair of pajamas he'd grabbed from the suitcase... If someone had been walking by and had looked into the windows, the scene would have certainly looked domestic. An ill man being tended to by his caring partner. Sebastian certainly did not _feel_ like he was a kidnapper anymore.

\--

Mycroft should have expected a horrible migraine- the stress would have done it alone, much less the dehydration and vomiting- but somehow one never did quite expect them. Sebastian very kindly unlocked his hands and put drinks and… cucumber? He’d never tried cucumber slices for a migraine…

Mostly he rather gratefully pulled the fabric- probably a bandana- over his eyes in the darkened room and tried to… not move, or think, or breathe, or notice how bloody loud the clock was…

He could hear Sebastian making food, and he ran back in to ask about his medication…

He tried- rather badly- to explain about the injectable versus the pills but Sebastian assured him he understood and gently pointed out that some food in his stomach was needed before he really could take anything.

Mycroft hoped that more liquid and some food would… at least take the edge off the migraine.

He did catch a brief glimpse of a still nude Sebastian Moran changing the sheets- sadly he had the lights on and that just wasn't… he retreated back under his makeshift blindfold.

Truthfully, an added factor to his sheer misery was the fact that he was unrestrained, in a room that he suspected had not been thoroughly searched- judging from the fact that the bed needed to be remade- and yet here he lay rather pathetically unable to even make an escape attempt.

Oh, he supposed he could have staggered to his feet and… probably fallen onto something useful, but he was in no condition to take on a man of Sebastian’s fitness and capability even if by some miracle he found a loaded gun!

He resolved to never, EVER, tell anyone about this part of his captivity in the debrief- his fellows would never let him hear the end of it and he’d be saddled with even more guards.

Eventually, Sebastian came back and helped him into his pajamas- yes his, from his luggage- assured him that he had indeed found his migraine medication, and picked him up and put him in the nice clean bed… propped up on pillows.

“I’ll be right back with some nice soup, and then you can take your meds and get some sleep- alright?” and the man ruffled his hair again, and then smoothed it back…

He half wanted to snap at him to stop it, but… well it was an apparently genuine gesture of caring and it was oddly comforting- perhaps he could talk him into something less… patronizing… later. _SIGH, when I was less pathetic perhaps._

So here he was lying in bed- still unrestrained- blindfolded by his own will because of a damn migraine… and unable to even begin to work out an escape attempt.

Possibly he was so pathetic that the man might let him go? Probably not. He seemed… pleasant? Caring? How the hell did such a man ever end up as a mercenary kidnapper anyway?

Mycroft resolved to ask him when the bed stopped… feeling like it was at sea.

Soon enough Sebastian was back, urging him to eat in order to be able to take his medication- _a very patent reason indeed_ \- and holding a spoon to his lips with… a luckily mild chicken risotto of some sort.

“It’s quite good.” he said quietly after the third spoonful, “I’m sorry you had to forgo your usual spices for my migraine…”

He cautiously moved back the blindfold- Sebastian had turned down the lights- and thus was able to hold his own spoon, which was a relief. “I’m not normally quite this useless: I also normally realize a migraine is coming on but…” he shut up before he started whining about how he wasn't helpless- because at the moment he was- and put the spoon in his mouth to stop himself from making any MORE of a fool of himself.

\--

Sebastian shrugged; moving the spoon around his own bowl absentmindedly. "Thanks. If I'd thought about it, I'd have thrown the chicken into the slow cooker. But I wasn't thinking of dehydration before, only prepped for the hurling bit after it started happening..." He _was_ a shite kidnapper. Christ. "Shappens, I'm used to it." He ate a spoonful- _needs some celery and carrots._ "How often do they happen? Or anything in particular that triggers them I need to watch out for? I was checking the files I had on you, 'course they're all fake a shite. Nothing in there about... what, allergies to the tranqs or migraines." Why did Jim even _have_ those shitty files. 

\--

"Well, stress is a primary trigger," Mycroft gingerly waved his spoon about, "So it stands to reason that being kidnapped would be high risk. Dehydration, of course can trigger- no, does trigger- headaches, and that... CAN lead off into a migraine." He closed his eyes again to rest them.

"The stress of repeated vomiting on the vagus nerve..."

Sebastian nudged his hand to keep eating.

Mycroft opened his eyes again, "Mister Moran- Sebastian... I am very much afraid you have gotten involved in something far more dangerous than you are aware of: you were obviously given incorrect information- at the very least NOT given information, yes? As you said the files you have are fake..."

\--

"Mm, yeah, sorry. Couldn't really avoid that one. If it helps, next time I'll shoot you a text and you can just pack a bag and come on over. Saves us plenty of trouble." Sebastian smiled cheekily from over his spoon. And if his hand faltered a _tiny_ bit and he didn't get a full spoonful for the second bite because of the way his name sounded falling from those lips- well... that was not his fault. _Poshy_. Christ. He liked that. "How dangerous we talkin' here?" The amusement was obvious in his voice- "Because I've been told once or twice that I'd got a hard-on for anything that's likely to get me killed, so this could be a fun time." Cute. He was... what, trying to manipulate him on Mycroft's side? Offering to... protect him? Save him, maybe? _Adorable_. 

\--

Mycroft sighed and carefully put the soup down on the bedside table.

"Shall I speak bluntly? Given that one issue is the more I tell you the more dangerous things become for you."

\--

"Well, now you're just blatantly flirting-" Sebastian waved his spoon at Mycroft, not bothering to poke him further about the soup... He'd eaten half of it and too much could easily cause another round of vomiting. "-And I can't say no to a redhead, it's a sad fact so you might as well continue." He scooched off the bed, setting his bowl aside as he stood. "You talk, I'll get your meds 'round. Preference to thigh or stomach?" 

\--

Mycroft winced faintly, "Stomach." and then muttered, "It’s my fault for not realizing in time..." He began to sort through how to brief the man without violating EVERY security regulation. "You are not a stupid man, Sebastian-" he cut off and could feel himself blush- _how appallingly rude._ "My apologies, you had not given me permission to use your given name and here I have done so twice- once in an attempted briefing."

\--

_Not realizing in time,_ like he hadn't been drugged and miserable. What a shitty way to live, blaming yourself for things out of your control. _Miserable_. Sebastian was careful to uncap the pen; coming around and waiting for permission before he lifted the edge of Mycroft's shirt, positioning the head of the shot carefully. "Mm, you're alright. Don't really care about that shite. Been calling you Mycroft or Holmes in my head since I first heard your name, so it'd make no sense to be offended over it. Not a fan of the 'mister', really. Sebastian's fine. Seb, 'Bas, 'Bastian," he rattled on, "Moran," his lips crooked into a wistful smile, "Moron," _Jim_ "Blondie, take your pick. Ready?" 

\--

"I do not wish to be rude," Mycroft tried to relax and told him to go ahead. He was clearly adept and practiced at it- possibly a relative with lethal allergies, or ... someone else with bad migraines? It might explain the sympathy…

He waited for Sebastian to settle back on the edge of the bed and sighed, "As I said... you are certainly not a moron- I suspect that compared to most people you are quite intelligent. The difficulty is that you have incorrect or partial information AND are likely being set-up to take the blame for this... " He tried to open his eyes and look at the man only to see an odd cross between amusement and wistfulness... well at least he was listening.

\--

"Mm, depends on the topic. I couldn't tell you for the life of me how to keep cookies from becoming one giant... mega-cookie brick in the oven, but I was top of my class so I think it balances it out. It's a butter thing, I'm certain of it." He couldn't resist the teasing; it was so... oddly _sweet_ that the man was trying to warn him of his 'impending doom', Mycroft sounded almost convincing enough that he wasn't even quite sure if that was a ploy or not. "Well, the partial bit is true. Thing is, kinda a big disorganized mess handed to me. Can't figure out half the shorthand and the handwriting is pigeon-scratches. Need a team of code-breakers to find out what's worth keeping or not..." Sebastian shook his head, turning and moving so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, leaning back slightly as he listened to Mycroft. "Yeah, it happens. Someone's gotta be a fall guy." 

He'd actually dropped a rather _nasty_ little rat of a man to throw the hounds of his trail.

\--

Mycroft frowned _\- somehow that didn't sound right? The situation he described…_

"Perhaps... I am also working with incorrect information- I suppose given my condition I can't be entirely surprised...."

He pushed himself to sit up a bit more on the pillows- The power imbalance was ridiculous- here he was in his nightclothes in bed trying to talk to the man… even if he was in casuals: he looked good in them.

"In any event," he forced himself to speak a bit more firmly- even if it did mean shutting his eyes again- "You MUST have realized I'm not strictly the minor government official my documentation makes me out to be? No one would go to this much trouble to kidnap me if so..."

\--

"It really wasn't _that_ much trouble. I mean, a bit short notice but I've done more in less time." Should he fill him in on a few things? No... He rather liked seeing Britain's finest puzzling it out in his jammies. Almost like a sleepover, really... Sebastian smiled, one of his best 'I'm a scamp, aren't I?' smiles- crooked and charming, "No, you're basically Great Britain in a three-piece, but the documentation does look real good. Very professional." 

\--

Mycroft dragged a hand across his eyes- wonderful, now he had to figure out how much had leaked on top of... well it changed nothing.

"You seem to be of the opinion that the person collecting me will let you live- I doubt it, but I suppose it's possible. You also seem to be honestly of the impression that anyone who gets their hands on me will let ME live- and that's simply not going to happen. I will not be visiting a masseuse, or any other such thing since I will either be in North Korea, or Russia, and my continued comfort will be dependent on selling out the country, which I shall not do."

He tried to drag his eyes open- the migraine medication taking effect was predictably knocking him out... that and the postdrome of the migraine itself.

"Because I AM valuable, I will also have people trying to keep me from falling into enemy hands- whether by rescue or… removal."

Mycroft reached out and patted at a hand rather woozily, "You really don't want to be caught by either side, Sebastian- much less in between them."

\--

_Oh._

There was a level of resigned weariness in the man's tone; the same sort of almost 'carefree' resignation that he'd heard from men who knew their fates. Carefree being that they believed, with their whole being, that their lives were out of their hands. _So why bother?_

Sebastian did not like that tone. 

He had heard it from far greater and stronger men than himself. He was not very sure where Mycroft stood in his mind. 

There was a drowsy, comforting pat to his hand and Sebastian couldn't _not_ reach out and place his other over it, keeping slender fingers trapped- "Mycroft," fuck any of that 'mister' nonsense... he hadn't called _anyone_ but Jim mister in years, "I know who you are. I know _far_ more about what you can do and you are asking me to... what? Let you go? Really- if I did, you and your own people would be after me the second we parted. And if by some chance I evaded capture... because, of course, I know _far_ too much to just be allowed to wander about, 'specially with a reputation like mine... I would have my employer," said with a slight smile, "and however many goons he owned after my lovely, lovely arse." Sebastian released his hand and stood, carefully arranging Mycroft so he could lay comfortably under the blankets... Sebastian had cuffed one of his hands (with some length) to the steady wooden bedpost. 

"Now sleep." A hand came up, ruffling Mycroft's hair, his palm resting on his head. He surprised himself with his own words, a mix of sympathy and a desire to not see someone who reminded him, in the worst and best ways, of Jim in misery. "And I promise you, Mycroft, that I’ll make sure that you end up alive and at home. And I'll make sure you get that massage when you leave, too."

\--

Mycroft tried to make sense of it...

He did his best to explain...

But he couldn't really open his eyes, or manage, and he slipped rather seamlessly from trying to make Sebastian understand… to sitting in a lecture hall at school listening to a discourse on politics...

Or was it poetry?


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperation inspires drastic action.

…

Mycroft woke up slowly to a familiar sound- a vacuum- and the smell of breakfast.

He remembered trying to explain things to Sebastian, and Sebastian rather ridiculously assuring him that his employer was going to let Mycroft live. 

Sigh.

He wasn't certain if the man had come in during the night and ruffled his hair- it seemed probable he might have done.

He sat up slowly and traced the cuff on one wrist to a chain to the bedpost.

Sadly the ‘glass’ on his bedside was still plastic, as was the plastic bottle. Still, best to deal with this WITHOUT being dehydrated: he drank it.

He DID contemplate trying to smash the lamp for a sharp edge, but he was QUITE sure that it would be heard and reacted to too quickly.

The vacuuming noise had stopped and Sebastian- still dressed as he had been last night- came in: He looked appallingly awake.

Mycroft took advantage of his slightly improved condition to try to read the man.

The… anger and hostility seemed to have lessened, but there was still too much that didn't make sense, and then the man distracted him with an offer of a bathroom and breakfast...

Which he assured him included caffeine.

\--

Sebastian spent the night, or at least most of it, on the couch. He'd quickly reverted back to old habits after Jim- the restlessness, the startled awakenings, long nights spent laying on the couch until the soft sounds of whatever documentary he'd put on lulled him into sleep. Their bed (before he'd moved entirely) had grown too big to be filled by even a man of his size. Large stretches of emptiness at his back... he'd rather lay with his back to the wall, even if that 'wall' was the backing of a couch. He preferred to sleep shifted as well, always felt safer with keener ears and a sharper nose and fistfuls of daggers and a mouth of knives. 

Mycroft had a few noisier moments and Sebastian's ears would flick and he'd slink off the couch, back arched and stretching before he shifted back, not eager to reveal any secrets yet. Never fully woke up; Jim always slept hard after his meds as well, but he tossed and mumbled and Sebastian would sit on the edge of the bed and murmur softly, reciting anything and everything that came to mind as he pet Mycroft's hair, until things settled and he could slink away. He gave up on much more sleep in the early hours of the morning, dawn breaking in through the windows. He took care of the quiet cleaning first: rinsing down the tub and separating a towel for Mycroft, should he want to shower. The wiping down the kitchen and preparing a majority of the food, the things that took slightly longer being cooked while he vacuumed the rest of the small house quickly and thoroughly. He'd never had to try and _hide_ it before, but Mycroft was clever and Sebastian wanted to be the one to break that news, control the narrative. He emptied the canister twice (god, did he shed...) before eventually coming to wake the man up if he wasn't already. He was and it didn't take much to get him to focus away from their discussion last night... the mention of breakfast, his pick of coffee or tea, a trip to the bathroom. Not in that order, of course... 

Mycroft was... quiet. Still. But his eyes had sparks that betrayed how much faster his brain was running, his mind running closer to peak capacity. And so Sebastian followed his lead, quiet but not distant- he unchained him, replacing the metal cuff with something else. Well-worn and cared for, a pair of cuffs that looked more like they'd belong in a high-end sex boutique than in a cell. Soft dark brown material with bits of decorative leather, each cuff embossed with an ornate 'M'- an almost _exact_ match to the white scar on his hipbone. A sturdy chain between them and equally strong, yet light, locks that prevented whoever was wearing them from unlocking them without the key. It would be hard to tell _exactly_ what the material on the inside lining them was without close inspection and prior knowledge but Sebastian knew because Jim had walked him through the science and design of it. A sturdy 'elastic' blend that would grow with the size of the wrist it was around. Keeping someone like Sebastian bound even when they shifted; the material fitting snugly around his wrists in tiger form or not. Of course, they would be next to useless if Mycroft was secretly some sort of bird, or anything that had smaller wrists than what he had now, but... it would work. And he doubted the man would be able to tell _exactly_ why they were made in that way.

They'd started as a way for Jim to get him more comfortable with the idea of restraints... Sebastian had spent far too many months frantically shifting; the pain of his chest and the fear and the drugs keeping him in a frenzied, terrified state. Far too many days spent with restraints made like this around his limbs. Jim had had the clever idea to tinker with the design until they didn't _look_ like the thick, horrible, chafing things that would send him into a panic. And then they'd just... gotten used to the design. 

He'd brought them before to be used as a way to mock Holmes. Keep him bound in a literal form of Jim's... affection( _?_ ), a way to sully and degrade the cuffs into something that he could discard easily; they'd been touched by Holmes and that ruined them, a way to cast them aside without guilt. A way for him to throw yet another memory-laden item away so he could try and forget. Not exactly healthy. _He didn't care._

He cared now, though, seeing them fit onto pale wrists, slightly thinner than his own. They'd hold, there wasn't enough give to let him slip even a finger through and his own fingers lingered on the embossing for far too long before he forced himself to shake aside memories. Bathroom used (Seb watching, but allowing Mycroft the dignity to handle himself), breakfast within reach (plastic dishware and cutlery, not allowing Mycroft even a sharper butterknife to cut his food). This could have been worse. Forget the cuffs and this could almost be domestic; a spread of food (he thought he ate a lot before... now he ate like a tiger) that looked like it belonged on the cover of some homelife magazine. Sliced fruit, soft crescents, a plate with several thick slices of bacon, scrambled eggs (because he wasn't dealing with the issue of over-easy vs sunny side up), a pot of coffee and another of tea. He'd almost gone for a classic English but... clean-up was already a bitch. "Coffee or tea," he asked, already pouring himself another cup of coffee. "And how do you like it?" 

\--

Mycroft was already running calculations, trying to figure out how long they had until Sebastian’s employers showed up versus how long it would take for his own people to realize he was missing: he had to assume that Sebastian was very good at his job and the longer the trail was permitted to go cold the more likely he would be securely in enemy hands before he could be rescued.

So he had to escape by himself before his purchaser arrived, convince Sebastian to change sides or let him go, or… die.

...And then all of his calculations were derailed in one glance down at the new cuffs that Sebastian placed on his wrists.

They were odd feeling, not leather but comfortable, and well worn, and clearly- from the way Sebastian handled them- had deep personal meaning, so naturally Mycroft paid attention…

Sebastian looked sad- _nostalgia, memory, grief_ \- and his fingers gently touched a spot on the cuffs as he fastened them.

...and they had an M embossed in script on them.

A _distinctive_ ‘M’ embossed in script on them.

He followed Sebastian to the bathroom with his body on autopilot as his mind replayed every prior encounter, everything he’d seen since he’d been here… his eyes had noted scars on the man- could any of them have been an ‘M’? Possible…but uncertain.

However...the emotions suddenly made more sense. _He had hated me_ … he was angry, bristling at any reminder of… his FORMER employer (and obviously lover), who left him ’files of incomprehensible chicken scratch’- which is what the man’s hasty notes looked like, yes- and inaccurate or incomplete information… but enough that he knew precisely who and what I was...

It wasn’t that I looked like someone else: he blamed me for Moriarty’s death? That was irrational, but people often were, especially where emotions tangled things up…

Eventually, he realized that Sebastian was asking him something…? Oh, tea or coffee… how he liked it…

“Tea, thank you; I only drink coffee when I need to- ah… ‘pull an all-nighter’ I suppose…” he answered distractedly- putting together files in his mind and shifting misfiled information...

He saw Sebastian start to prepare tea and watched him… yes, he was clearly going to make it to Moriarty’s tastes… he stopped him before he poured: “I take mine with less cream and sugar, if you don’t mind, at least for breakfast.”

\--

Sebastian hmm'd, carefully adjusting his routine to suit Mycroft's preferences. The man had been quiet, much more so than the 'chatter' of yesterday, but he knew that 'quiet' did not always mean 'submissive', especially not with a man of Mycroft's caliber. And especially not with one who was likely trained in what to do in situations like this. Sebastian had been given similar training once (likely not nearly as extreme as Mycroft's, purely due to his importance), he knew a few things. Best set some ground rules then, make this go smoothly. He set the mug (a thick and durable plastic like everything else except the cookware) in front of Mycroft before taking a seat at a stool opposite him at the table. 

"Now, I'd prefer to keep things civil here, so I'd like to start by laying a few things out," Sebastian started to fill his plate as he spoke. "It's all plastic, so if you try to kill me, you'll have to get it right in one blow and keep me down, or you'll be fucked. Odds of that aren't very high and if I even _think_ you're going to pull a move like that, I'll pop your wrists out and you'll stay downstairs til you've apologized." He started putting jam on his croissant.

"So let's save you the pain and me the trouble and avoid all that. Don't think you'd be stupid enough to try, but... desperation is a helluva thing." 

\--

"I had never really given that much thought, actually- unless I had a weapon I couldn't expect to take down a SAS trained combatant," Mycroft answered with his mind still miles away on data and analysis. 

"You don't fit, you know... so much just doesn't fit..."

\--

Sebastian shrugged, biting the croissant nearly in half and chewing it as he thought. "'Couldn't expect' doesn't mean you wouldn't try. Certain death- or worse- approaching... Wouldn't blame you if I ended up being stabbed by a fork. Just figured I'd provide an incentive to... ya know, not ruin any of my clothes." He gestured at the food, "Eat. You mostly had broth and I'd like you not passing out on me. I'm a soldier, not a doctor." 

\--

Mycroft forced himself to eat: he didn't have an appetite, but as he expected it came back after he got a bit more food in his stomach, and then he had to force himself to slow down.

Sebastian certainly did like threats of crippling him: his legs, his wrists...it was a peculiar dichotomy with his otherwise caring behavior, and kept throwing Mycroft into confusion and panic- which seemed counterproductive, but who knew anymore?

He turned questions over in his mind as he ate, trying different things for fit. He would rather much prefer to simply ask the man a number of questions but his reactions were mercurial in certain directions and anything touching on Moriarty was likely to be a trigger.

After he'd eaten as much as he thought he could safely, he carefully told him, "It was quite good, and while I would like more I think it would be inadvisable."

He considered Sebastian thoughtfully and shrugged, "You keep contradicting yourself and it makes me… much more likely to behave in a way that you won't like, since I don't know what you actually want."

\--

"Thanks," Sebastian paused; nose wrinkling as he thought. _Had_ he been inconsistent? He thought he was pretty normal, wasn't like he was making outlandish requests only to change them partway through. "Have I?" He started to grab plates and work on setting things aside- not much would actually be worth keeping for leftovers except the bread, and between his appetite and Mycroft's lack of food, they'd cleared almost everything out. The treatment, maybe? But... that was just how things went, normally. Or at least, that's what he thought would be easiest. "Don't mean to be, but normally me shooting at someone doesn't leave them alive. Bit out of my element on this, but hey-" He finished putting the last few things away, "-Never too old to learn some new skills." He turned, leaning back against the counter. "If it helps, I can try to answer some questions. No guarantees for all of'em, but I'm not exactly going to haul off and smash your face in if you're a prick about it. Not much fun unless you can fight back, that."

\--

Mycroft blinked several times and brought his mind fully to the present moment, out of the memories and files in his head.

"You have made it clear that you, yourself, do not want my information, or a ransom, and... while you began this by wanting to harm me you don't seem to now..."

"You have repeatedly stated a deadline, which I can only interpret as your employer or contractor coming to pick me up- or my being delivered to them- and yet you also insist I will be... safe."

Mycroft mostly felt tired: it was far too much like the politics at the upper levels only with less understanding of what his opponent's goals might be.

"THAT only makes any sense if you, yourself, are dictating my terms... but you won't tell me what they ARE." He forced himself to finish the cup of water, since he expected he was still dehydrated. 

He added, "That and you alternate being extremely caring and considerate with being extremely upset- and... until quite recently I couldn't even guess as to what was bothering you at all." 

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Put yourself in my place, Col- Sebastian: wouldn't you be rather confused?"

\--

_Lonely, scared, sick, in pain... Disorientated from the drugs pumped into his system, haunted by nightmares and hallucinations, kept chained down and in pain because no one knew how to stop what was happening to him. Each emotion-fueled shift tearing skin that was nowhere near healing and forcing his limbs into positions he couldn't handle, the restraints on his limbs keeping them in positions that they didn't sit naturally in for a tiger- adjusted to help his discomfort but shifting back and feeling skin split and bleed and finding himself chained on his hands and knees like an animal._

And then being taken care of so well; nothing _personal_ but being able to * _move_ * and _think_ and seeing the same repeating face... far too curious and never for long. 

Sebastian could very easily put himself into Mycroft's shoes. "I don't need anything you know. I don't care about it. It's not important to me. I don't need money; god knows I've got more than I can spend. If you act as a threat or try to leave, I will make it so you stay. But I've got no desire to torture you. I said you will leave this place safely, you will go back to your life because, as of now, that's a part of my... _job_ ," _only part of it_. "My... 'mood swings'," he made air quotes with his fingers, "Don't concern you. You won't be harmed without plenty of fair warning, and I'm not the type to go back on my word." He moved away from the counter, coming to lean on his forearms on the kitchen table, looking at Mycroft with a steady gaze. "You are confused because I had no desire to deal with a panicking scared man who couldn't even stand on his own. Far too likely to injure yourself. I can very easily put myself into your shoes; I've been in similar boots before. And frankly, I'd be worried- but I'd also be very damn grateful that I wasn't being hurt anymore." 

\-- 

Mycroft put his head down and rubbed at his eyes.

"That...that's what I mean. You think I should be grateful that YOU are not hurting me anymore. Very well it's preferable to being hurt, but no, it doesn't explain any of it."

"Your job...is to make certain I get back to work safely, but you kidnapped me… which… very well you want me to be absent from work for-"

There was only one reason for any of Moriarty's people to be certain he was absent from contact....and then return him: the targets, Sherlock! And no one knowing...

Mycroft knew he couldn't outrun the man, but he had correctly noted one very important fact: 'worse than death' did indeed induce rather drastic behavior.

Sebastian had moved forward, leaning on his arms toward him: Mycroft crossed his arms as if in thought and then…

Looped the chain holding his cuffs together over Sebastian's head and around his neck…

And pulled.

\--

It took an incredible amount of willpower not to panic- his eyes flew open wide, hands immediately scrabbling at the chain and he barely resisted the instinct to shift. If he did- he would choke himself out faster, _maybe_ managing to bite the man. But if Mycroft didn't shift- and even if he did, the cuffs growing in size with him -there was no guarantee he wouldn't end up dying anyway. Normally he'd take the risk. But... scaring Holmes and making him flee, terrified and now certain he knew _exactly_ how weres worked. Sebastian needed him to _trust_ him-- the plan had _changed_. Make him trust you, bite him, turn him- he couldn’t… bring himself to think of the other ways possible for that, not… anymore. _He’d gotten too personal. He was never any good at this. Not alone._

He would be taking a huge risk- if Mycroft planned to escape and he was to be captured, he couldn't imagine leaving that scenario alive. If Mycroft held the hold until he died- well... actually, then it wouldn't be his problem. Wouldn't be his fight, his cause, anymore.

That wouldn't be so bad, actually. 

His face was red and the corners of his vision going dark, but... fuck. He'd take the risk- he’d _win_ either way...

Sebastian Moran passed out. 

\--

Mycroft saw the combat analysis flash by quickly- expected: frankly, he expected to be hurt badly as Sebastian fought- but then it looked like a sort of resignation... and shortly after that he was unconscious. Mycroft held the chokehold only long enough to be certain from his pulse and eye response that he was truly out and released the man to drop onto the floor.

A man of his constitution and capabilities wouldn't be out long.

He had already seen the slight smudge on Sebastian's shirt, the faint footprint near the fireplace- otherwise unused -and as expected the keys to his cuffs, as well as several other keys, were there.

He removed the cuffs from his wrists and cuffed Sebastian: of course, they fit him, they had clearly been custom made for the man.

_I'm missing something_

_I don't have TIME!_

It took FAR too long to haul him to the bedroom- the basement cell being out of the question- and he was already showing signs of regaining consciousness when Mycroft locked him to the bed… after a thought, Mycroft propped him up on all of the pillows to ease his breathing.

Mycroft moved as fast as he could to unlock the closet and retrieve the man's weapons- coming back in time to hear a pained and raspy groan…

_Pupillary response still slow: I have time._

He went into the kitchen and came back with a few small towels, a bowl and the convenient pitcher of water... and by the time Sebastian's confused eyes focused fully on Mycroft he was wrapping the cold wet towel around his throat.

"As you said: desperation does inspire drastic action," he couldn't help but smile just a little, "But I neither stabbed you with a fork nor ruined your clothes."


	6. Catch a tiger by his...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tables have been turned and Mycroft has the upper hand- but for how long?

It took far too long for his head to come back online. For a moment he thought maybe he was back home, maybe some game gone wrong, maybe just seeing how much he could _actually_ take- but then Mycroft was close to him. 

It hurt to take deep breaths, but his heart was pounding in his chest. He'd expected to be tied up, or dead- tied up might be the better choice in this case. His own cuffs (ironic, the things gifted to him by a lover, used to restrain him by said lover's killer) around his hands, keeping him from shifting. He could, he knew he could. Break the bedposts. But the cuffs would hold through the shift and he'd end up freaking the man out. 

Better to just rest, breathe (he did _NOT_ like being bound by Mycroft Holmes), try not to panic, try to just enjoy the cool towel on his throat. 

Fuck, that'd bruise horribly. 

"T-thanks," A voice rough and low before, now sounding like he'd been gargling gravel. He coughed- fucking HELL that hurt- wincing, then deciding to just rest his head back the best he could against the pillows. He wanted to make a quip about liking that shirt, or perhaps even being so bold as to let Mycroft know what his safeword was, but... his throat hurt. "How... long til they get here?" 

\--

Mycroft turned that question over in his mind and got exactly nowhere. _I'm too tired, too sick, and I'm missing far too much._

"If you mean how long until your associates arrive? I have no idea: I suppose you would- I would appreciate knowing in fact."

Mycroft would have said more, but realizing that Sebastian found speaking painful he chose to wait for his response.

\--

His associates. 

He didn't really _have_ that many left that he really trusted- a few men who he’d spent a lot of time around, but no one who knew where he was. This was too important for that. 

They hadn't seen him in a week already- everything taken care of by text or a phone call or an email (the most common). 

He was supposed to be ’working remotely’ from an island paradise with plenty of booze and rebound sex. 

Cute. He liked seeing people like Mycroft and Jim confused and missing things, they both seemed to make that same pinched look. 

He shook his head. ”Yours.” Another swallow, ”Not mine.”

\--

Mycroft watched the man's face as he seemed to drift a bit- s _ad, loss, nostalgia, and then a sort of fond familiarity? Ah... a ... comparison of him to Moriarty?_

_Fair enough, I suppose I did have him restrained to a bed by his own cuffs._

"You were unconscious for very little time, Sebastian, and I did not wish to risk interrupting blood flow to your brain a second time. Even if I wished to call anyone yet, I simply haven't had time to: I am usually fitter than this, but hauling your weight onto the bed took enough time that you began to wake up."

_How much time do I HAVE damn it- he had been planning to return me after it was done, but... he wasn't in a hurry... a few minutes to an hour should make no difference._

Mycroft worried at his lip- a habit he normally avoided but it was better than gesturing with the gun and he didn't have an umbrella or pocket watch to occupy his hands. "I brought cold water, but... the kettle is still hot: it would not take much time to make tea if it would assist your throat."

\--

Mycroft looked incredibly worried, more than he’d ever seen before- he’d rewatched a fair amount of surveillance footage before this- and fair point. He had been drugged, was god knows where- in mourning for a dead brother, thinking Sebastian was just a middle man... (Why wasn't he ever assumed to be in charge? Did his aura just scream ’use me’?)

_Why wasn't he calling his people? He found the keys, it wasn't like his phone was hid much better, tucked behind a book on the shelf in the living room... Why not kill him, call for help?_

_He was missing something._

Mycroft wanted him for something. 

”Tea.” His smile wasn't nearly as bright as his others had been- but he hoped it would be sweet enough- ”Extra honey?” Okay, he had a tiny sweet tooth and indulged ever so rarely- if he was going to get tortured or be left here until Mycroft got what he wanted, then he’d fucking indulge.

\--

Sebastian looked puzzled, as well as concerned about his situation... and the more this went on the more convinced Mycroft became that they were both operating with... at the very least, missing data.

"You have already stated that your information was..." he hesitated before rephrasing to be more polite, "Difficult to interpret. I think we may BOTH be operating under some assumptions that need to be corrected."

He staggered just slightly and caught himself against the chair.

"Tea," he said firmly. "And in my case, more electrolytes and perhaps more, but I think we will BOTH start with tea."

He walked to the door and turned, "You said you were trying to make the situation clear? Allow me to return the favor: You were very used to threats of maiming and torture- dealing with Moriarty- and I am certain you think very little of it, but it was one of many things you did that made you entirely unpredictable and rather frightening. Given our relative combat capabilities I have far more reason to maim you- please do not make it necessary."

He nodded at him once and went out- leaving the door open to hear if he managed to get loose from the bed. The tea kettle was still quite warm and he set up for two cups of tea- with honey for a sore throat- and made more electrolyte solution for himself. At the last minute, he added a bowl of the remaining fruit and returned cautiously.

\--

Sebastian worried for a second that Mycroft might fall- it'd be his luck for the man to pass out and bash his head open, and then he'd be trapped in a bed. Of course, getting out was easy... but he didn't want to have to deal with the cleanup. And wood splinters in his fur...

And then Mycroft had righted himself, talked about tea and drinks like they were going to be on a picnic... misconceptions, bad info... 

_Moriarty-_

Sebastian felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach, a cold tight fist squeezing at his guts. That was bad. That was _not_ supposed to be known. Sebastian wasn't sure if his face blanched or if he turned red, or maybe speckled- but something was happening. Threats of maiming and torture... No, Mycroft- it hadn't been like that. Yes, there were plenty of times that he felt certain he was going to lose an eye or a limb or something- but... but he had said it in a way that made his heart race, even when he was terrified. 

Mycroft's threat was much, much worse. Because Mycroft did not find him funny or cute or convenient. 

Sebastian had seen the state Jim had returned in after his time with Mycroft. 

He'd forgotten, somehow, along the way, that Mycroft was not a nice man, or really, even, a kind one. He had been sick, out of control, and not able to act how he wanted because he was worried that Sebastian would snap. He flexed his arms slightly, feeling the limits of his movement, then sighed, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes. He could hear Mycroft return, footsteps on the carpet, and he hummed. 

Mycroft wanted something from him. Mycroft needed whatever it was- badly enough or impatiently enough that he did not want to wait for his group or rescue. He would need to ride that thin line... Perhaps, like Mycroft had tricked him, bide his time. Shift when most advantageous, and deal with the gun first. Distract.

"You're a good actor. He was too." 

\--

"Am I?" Mycroft set down the tea tray. "I never thought so. Moriarty was, of course, a superlative actor- one of the more terrifying abilities he had, in fact- to hide in plain sight the way he did."

He poured the man's tea and tapped the spoon until he opened his eyes again, "I have no idea how much honey you take for your throat."

A rather puzzled looking Sebastian said "At least two spoonfuls"? as though he couldn't quite believe any of it.

Mycroft started carefully spooning honey into the tea. "I found your behavior entirely unpredictable until finding out you were... involved with him: I still think we are speaking at cross purposes."

Keeping the gun safely on the far side of his body he held the tea to Sebastian's mouth- an... uncomfortably intimate gesture: he had to struggle to keep his eyes on the man's face.

\--

Terrifying was an understatement at best. He had, for most of a whole day, actually- convinced Sebastian that 'Richard Brook' was not a character. An outrageous lie _'My twin brother._ ' 

Mycroft held the cup up to his lips and Sebastian couldn't help but glance at the gun- far too out of reach... he shifted, Mycroft would shoot him. Disregarding any idea of going for the gun he licked his lips, blowing lightly onto the tea before tilting his head and taking a drink. 

It was hot and it hurt but it felt good at the same time- Sebastian would put good money on him having a sore throat for several days and bruising for far longer. 

_I'm sooooo changeable..._ An Irish drawl in his head. 

He almost smiled at that. 

"And if we are...?" _What did it matter?_ Sebastian was a dead man unless he kept his advantage... and he knew how hard that would be with someone like Mycroft as his opponent. God knows he had never tried to hide anything from Jim. 

\--

Mycroft took the cup and put it down. "I thought you were holding me for delivery to a buyer: instead you have told me you were to keep me incommunicado until something was accomplished. There are very few things that 'something' could be and almost all of them fall under your threat of 'worse than death'."

Mycroft considered his reactions... _He thinks I am a good actor?_

"Ah... I think I understand part of the confusion: I had no idea you were associated with Moriarty until I saw this," Mycroft tapped the 'M' resting snugly around Sebastian's wrist.

"Which also told me your threat likely related to his threats... if my brother didn't jump."

\--

Sebastian wondered if Mycroft considered being infected, being a were- worse than death. He would need to keep a close eye on the man- should he get the chance to bite him... He did not need Mycroft killing himself to avoid 'that life'. 

He did his best not to flinch away when Mycroft's hand came up his cuff- disguising the motion with a cough. 

_Associated_ was a weak word, or so he thought. Jim probably thought it would be accurate. _Associated._

"That's not my game." The words fell from his mouth without thinking- an almost trained response and he snapped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw. 

_"It's not your game to play," A bored, distracted voice._

_"Bullshit. I've done everything else you've-"_

_"Someone's feeling a bit **jealous** today."_

_"I- you need-"_

_"You don't know a **thing** about what I **need."**_

**__** _That low warning hiss that meant he'd be in for a later... Keeping his mouth shut because if he didn't..._

_**"This is not your game. Now get out, Moran."** _

He glanced at the tea, wondering if he would be lucky enough to another sip, then said with a casual tone that he hoped didn't read as being forced, "Your brother is dead. Moriarty is dead. The only person that I'd have a bone to pick with on his little dream team would be the morgue mouse and her shitty cat." _Because Jim had volunteered to watch the animal for an evening for some asinine reason... which meant he had to watch her cat._

_Her very, very picky cat... who did not like the larger feline being around... in any form._

\--

Mycroft could just FEEL his headache returning. Sebastian SEEMED to be telling the truth, but he was also flashing through so many thoughts, memories, associations that Mycroft couldn't get a read on what he meant!

He latched onto the one thing he did follow:

"Why on earth would you want to kill Dr. Hooper? She wasn't even on the threat list?"

\--

Oh, of all the fucking things to focus on- 

Well, it _was_ the least harmless.

"I..." Fine. Fuck it. _Gain his trust. Get your hands free._ "I had to watch her cat. The bastard did not like me." And it was also the evening that Jim did _not_ come home after their spat. 

\--

"Are... you honestly trying to tell me... that you kidnapped me in order to kill Molly Hooper and her CAT?!"

Mycroft could feel the migraine returning- and it was bringing friends.

\--

Sebastian's brow furrowed. What the- How the hell had he gotten that in his head? Before he could ask, Mycroft's nose did that thing- his forehead too, that little pursed-lip expression... Goddamnit, he _knew_ those looks. Stupid fucking geniuses. "First off-" the honey had been a good idea... his throat hurt, but not nearly as badly, and he was able to fight through most of it, only interrupted once or twice by a cough. "Get your pills." Sebastian nodded towards the man's luggage, piled in a corner. "Secondly, you asked why I would _want_ to kill her. I answered. If I was _going_ to kill her, she would be dead. Thirdly, I don't touch animals." 

\--

Mycroft hated feeling confused, it was his second least favorite feeling and it had been nonstop for some time. He held the cup of tea to the man's lips again and gave him a few sips and then stalked off to dig his pills out of the luggage.

"You can't threaten me with a fate worse than death and not expect a response," Mycroft growled, "Especially when combined with everything else!"

He dug out his pills... and his last injector: he'd never needed more than one on any given trip- before.

\--

Don't raise your voice back- "I wasn't _fucking_ threatening you. I said that I would understand if you thought that and _attacked_ me. When you think you're going to suffer, you take any chance you can- I didn't mean _I_ was going to make you suffer. Or fucking 'sell you off'- what kind of idea is that?" Oh great, now he was getting growly and irritated as well. 

_Cool it before he gets pissed- he's got the **gun,** moron!_

Sebastian scrunched his nose, taking a deep breath and holding it before letting it out. "Have I hurt you? Yes- you've prolly got a good bruise on your ass from the tranq and your shoulders were hurting... but I didn't know you were... allergic or whatever to the tranq. I had planned to keep you restrained like that until you were awake and able to understand how things worked. And then you'd get these-" Sebastian shook his hands, making the chain on the cuff rattle. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have. So why did you fucking _strangle_ me if you're not going to just fucking kill me or escape?!" 

\--

Mycroft sat down in the chair- he had to- and stared at the man in incomprehension.

"Let's see: you kidnapped me, you wouldn't tell me who or why, or give me any answers at all as to what was going to happen to me... you CLEARLY hated me, for no reason I could understand at all- which meant I was in imminent danger and I didn't even know why or who you worked for.

You have repeatedly said you have a deadline after which ‘something’ will happen. You now suddenly claim that the ‘something’ is my being released? Why must I be kept incommunicado if not to enable your associates murdering their targets…

“You alternately claim you will mangle and break me if you even THINK I might try something, and then declare you would understand if I did because of horrible unspecified threats that are 'worse than death' approaching."

“but you are upset that instead of... what... trying to hit you with a plastic plate? I used the only weapon I had to save my life and that of my charges?”

“Just tell me who the targets are, and how to call the assassins off, and frankly, you can go to hell on your own time. I refuse to be baited into wasting time while people are being murdered!"

\--

The tirade was... something, for sure. Mycroft was clearly upset- and had been. Scared, confused- not in full mental control... Yes, Sebastian could see that scaring the shit out of someone like Holmes, because the _one_ time he'd seen Jim get tranq'd during a job it'd be a nightmare during and after. He waited until Mycroft was done- even if he wanted to protest at a few things, he... didn't really have much excuse. 

Yes, it was nice to see Holmes confused and frustrated- it made him human and very much _not_ the untouchable Iceman. Yes, he liked seeing him crack and crumble. This man was largely responsible for Jim's death- even if he hadn't pulled the trigger. How could he _not_ hate him? 

And he had- _did_ hate him. An angry vengeful passion. 

A _month_ ago. 

It was very, very hard to hate someone for a long time- that fire was not nearly as blazing as it had been before. 

He would take Mycroft Holmes and use him exactly how Jim had wanted- a suitable end. 

And then he would fuck off- and _go to hell on his own time._ Whatever and however that may be. 

He eyed the gun- a risky move, but... Mycroft was like Jim. Jim was insatiably curious. 

He'd bet Mycroft was too. Well- he'd at least bet his life on it. 

"There are no targets. There are no assassins, other than the one who cooked you breakfast- and there's no one else. It's just _me,_ Holmes. So there's your answer. There's no lives at stake here. No buyer or employer- insulting that you'd think it wasn't me, by the way- there's no one else who knows where we are. So there," Sebastian uncomfortably moved, straightening against the pillows, - looking as much determined and proud as a man cuffed to a bed could be- "Shoot me," he nodded to the gun, "And go home." 


	7. If he hollers...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past and Present collide unpleasantly  
> (a short but intense chapter)
> 
> CW for past trauma, anxiety, and PTSD

Mycroft puzzled as much as he could over this. It simply didn't make sense. Period.

Very quietly- in a voice that very few people had ever heard from him- Mycroft flatly stated: "You have not given me any explanation for why I was kidnapped, why I was being held, harmed, and then 'merely' threatened repeatedly... all so you could send me home after some unspecified mission is concluded."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, "As to shooting you and going home: I can not go home, as I had a top-secret mission that I was on when you kidnapped me- and I am not leading anyone to some poor fool of an agent that had the misfortune of timing, or actually being the target perhaps."

Mycroft winced as the dim lighting in the room got brighter and the nausea... with a great deal of reluctance he used his last injector.

\--

This was not how he wanted things to go. 

And Mycroft was _very obviously_ getting another migraine- they'd need more injectors... 

And- christ. Everything had gone to shit. 

"Mycroft. I know you have no reason to trust me. But you've _obviously_ got another migraine coming on- I don't know how well we could figure things out when everything I say makes you want to scream. And trust me- after living with a man with the same damn problem, it'd be best to wait for it to pass. For god’s sake, at least turn the lights off- but... you are... not exactly what I expected you to be." Cold, impersonal- untouchable, Jim without any of that vibrance and life. 

"So things changed. Yes, I was going to hurt you. I mean, wasn't going to kill you, but I was going to make things bad. But you looked..." _How could he say the level of guilt that he'd felt- reminded of the things that had happened to him, now sinking to that level and doing it someone else. Worse, even._ Sebastian shook his head. "You reminded me of... things. And I couldn't do that. So I cleaned you up and I tried to make you feel better- and yes, I threatened you. Because I would rather avoid that. And you seem like the sensible type- thought if I explained, 'hey, you try anything, I will hurt you'- then we could skip any attempts and maybe make this easier." 

Sebastian could see the pain on the man's face- "You can leave me here and go lay on the couch. Or, fuck- there's..." _He needs to trust me or he'll think we're all bad and I've done a shit job so far… He needs to not be terrified of being a were or he'll kill himself or turn himself in and this is all for moot._

Take one for the team. "There's extra tranqs in my bag. And locks for the basement door. I'd prefer to walk there- you probably couldn't move me right now anyway, but- I promise you- bind my wrists however you want-" _He did not want that at all._ "I'll walk downstairs, you can chain me like I had you," he _really_ did not want that. "And tranq me. Lock the door, and try to sleep and rest. You have the gun, you have my phone, you've got plenty of food and water."

It made his mouth dry just to think about it- the dark, the cold, the inability to know where he was or what was happening to him, too fogged by the tranq to really do _anything_ to protect himself. "And when you feel better and I'm not..." He shrugged the best he could, feigning a casual attitude. "I'll tell you. Why I brought you. Everything you want to know- I'll answer. I give you my word about that. But you need to rest before things get worse and I-" Sebastian swallowed, his throat hurting from how much he'd talked- "I don't make you feel safe." 

\--

Mycroft took the migraine and locked it all, just for the few minutes he could manage, behind the doors in his mind where he could compartmentalize pain. It worked beautifully for external pain but migraines were damnable bastards and hit you from behind where you couldn't shut them down for long.

He didn't bother to try to hide the analysis and did what Sherlock had never learned to hide: He raked the man with a near laser intensity scan:

_Fear, panic... being locked up- the basement... even the tranqs... sheer terror._

He couldn't blame him for never wanting to be hit with those tranquilizers- they weren't ever meant for humans.

Sebastian couldn't possibly get out of that basement... even without tranquilizers or restraints... _So why?_

Mycroft shook his head- he had minutes at best.

He stepped clear of the door and unlocked one of Sebastian's wrists- handing him the keys... backing away before he could do anything.

He walked him down to the cell- watching him get more agitated, more frightened,- _old memories and pain, prisoner..._

He didn't think the man even registered that he hadn't stopped to get the tranqs.

He closed the door behind him and the man JUMPED.

"I wouldn't hit anyone with those tranquilizers, Sebastian, and I fail to see any reason to torture you by yanking your arms behind you for a day. If I can hold it together long enough I'll bring down more blankets- which you didn't bother to give me even though you know damn well it's cold... you at least have clothes."

Mycroft staggered off to the bed- he thought he made it.

\--

The relief that washed over him at not having to deal with the darkness- bad enough on it's own, but in a small brick space like this? Far too familiar to where he'd been kept before. All that would be missing would be the blindfold- and the winch system that they'd used to keep him on his feet, the steady drip of a leak somewhere. 

Mycroft's speech was the straw that broke the camel's back- the second the door shut behind him he all but collapsed on the stairs, sitting curled as he dug his nails into his palms and tried to breathe. No darkness- good. No chains- good. No blankets... he doubted Mycroft would make it back down but he'd give it as long as he could stand, just in case... No tranqs- best thing yet. The lack of windows made him feel large and ungainly, like the room was squeezing down on him but... 

_**Fuck it.** _

The blankets he'd had for Mycroft were still there, untouched- one he did not want to touch, another he was more comfortable with. Sebastian practically leapt down the stairs- he was fast, even if Mycroft came down, he'd only see him naked... no chance to see him shifted. Not that it would matter. He'd have to tell him something later. The stairs were wooden and had a built-in storage... thing, a bunch of shelves that did not look that sturdy underneath. The blanket went down first- the floor was cold. Then his pants, his underwear, his shirt. Shifting was as seamless as breathing for him anymore- Jim had him doing drills the moment he could walk and stand and shift without panicking. As easy as taking a step forward- the leg lifting up human, the one coming down... very much the large paw of a tiger. He still did not like it. He did not like it at all. But he could pretend and distract himself by being in this form. Sharper hearing- he could count the creaking of the thing- (squirrel? Rat?) that lived in the walls upstairs, the pipes clanking. He could focus on puzzling out smells. He would be okay. 

Sebastian curled up as tightly as possible, burying his face into the blanket. He could smell Mycroft- the before sickness smell, at least, the sickness smell just as bad but easily ignorable if he focused. It wasn't too bad- but he could focus on trying to figure out what cologne or soap he used. 

His tail flicked, slightly agitated- He would be okay.


	8. Last Rites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is the last for Sebastian: last nap, last meal, last conversation... when he expects to die.

Mycroft managed a bit of sleep- probably due to the medication- and then woke up in a panic: _Sherlock? Was he alright?_ He forced himself to calm down- Sebastian honestly seemed to not know he was alive... he was safe... he wouldn't... he probably didn't even know for certain Mycroft was late yet.

He forced 'what if' and 'contingencies' and memories back into their files and managed a few more hours of sleep.

He woke up again nauseous and hungry- a brutal combination, but one he was used to at least after a bad migraine.

Sebastian... had looked extremely stressed- Post Traumatic Stress in all likelihood worse than his own: God knows living with Jim Moriarty should have either killed him or cured him, but...

Once again Mycroft found it horribly ironic that everyone took him to be somehow cruel and vicious- and yet they had no hesitation about doing things to HIM that he wouldn't do to anyone at all. He found some cigarettes and smoked one- it did more for his nerves and his migraine than anything else was likely to right now.

He still had no idea what Sebastian was up to, or why... probably carrying out some last plan of Moriarty's... which meant nothing good for him or anyone else.

Still... the man seemed... unbalanced but not unreachable.

Mycroft put on coffee and tea and started looking for…

?!

There was... a LOT of food here. Mycroft went ahead with preparing breakfast- after having to unlock the kitchen tools for God's sake!

But there was a LOT of food here.

Sebastian ate like an active-duty combat trainer- or a teenage boy- but this was still a lot of food.

_Possibly I was going to be here for a VERY long time? What kind of plan could Moriarty have left that would require that? Or had Sebastian misinterpreted the- as he put it- pigeon scratchings and incomplete notes?_

_Well hopefully he reacted like-_

Mycroft stuffed that grief back in its file and went back to cooking. When he had what he decided was a completely impossible amount of food cooked- sufficient to pacify, if not immobilize, at least two SIS active duty agents - and a pot of coffee; he retrieved the gun and went back to the door down into the basement.

Since startling a combatant was never a good idea- and one who might be having flashbacks even less so- he knocked before opening the door- gun at the ready just in case- and called down.

\--

Sebastian thought he might have managed to sleep- he wasn't very sure, he kept closing his eyes and opening them and nothing was changing... and he did sleep better in this form- Jim had mentioned before that the closer a person connected with that 'part' of them, the more likely they would gain the more 'natural' traits of the creature when they were shifted... hence the collection of expensive jewelry and shiny buttons that the man pilfered regularly- _had_ pilfered regularly when he was a magpie. 

Sebastian gained the ability to take cat naps. 

And he liked being petted, or combed- Jim complained about the shedding. 

And... it wasn't weird- it was a very _feline_ \- thing to do- he tried to keep sane by grooming himself. 

And then reading the labels on all his clothes. 

And then trying to figure out what Mycroft smelled like- he'd left some soap or shampoo scent on the blanket...

And then he was trying to think about good Jim memories, because he heard movement from the room above the basement... a creak of the floor above him and he immediately was reminded of... not good memories. 

And then he'd heard noises- movement, pans... oh, he was cooking... he hoped Mycroft would bring him some. He was almost always hungry, or at least able to eat. There was more movement- oh god, yes, please- even just a fucking _sandwich_ \- and then a knock and Sebastian slammed his head against the underside of the stairs with how fast he shifted-

Muffled curses and he scrambled for his shirt- don't come downstairs please... No pants or underwear, but he at least had a shirt on so Mycroft wouldn't be able to tell he had been naked. Sebastian poked his head from around the stairs, trying to keep most of his lower body out of sight as he shoved on his clothes. "C-can," oh, good, mostly healed... he wondered how the bruising looked. "Can I come up?" Was that a hint of desperation in his voice? No. It was very much a beg, really. "Please? I won't- my hands aren't... cuffed but..." 

\--

Mycroft wondered what in God's name the man had been thinking to be able to put MYCROFT down here if this was how he reacted to being in far less restricted circumstances...

"I had made breakfast and rather expected it would be easier for you to come up than to haul QUITE that much food down," Mycroft's intended dry tone faltered at the sound of Sebastian's distress. "There is also coffee..."

\--

Mycroft hadn't even really gotten to say 'there is also' by the time Sebastian had his pants pulled on and was half-way up the stairs. He froze, of course, seeing the gun and considerably slowed his pace. "I... have to get by you," he gestured, and Mycroft moved back enough for him to exit... But, Sebastian noticed, did not look away from him. He was careful to sit as far away from Mycroft as possible... not far with the size of the table, really, but he at least _tried_.

Mycroft was dressed again, looking prim and proper and Sebastian felt like he'd crawled out of a gutter. There was truly a difference to the way the man held himself, a strength that Sebastian had not seen except in photos and on film. Before, if he considered the bed-headed, cross-eyed, skittish creature to be "Mycroft" then this cleaned up, neatly dressed man was deserving of the title "Iceman." 

Sebastian very carefully tried to avoid looking at him for too long- suits, it was always just suits before Jim, but after he experienced that man in a suit... Okay, maybe he had a Pavlov response to finely tailored men. Sebastian wasn't sure where to start- and wasn't sure he was supposed to, or even _allowed_ to start- so he filled his plate instead, trying to ignore the way those eyes made him feel like his skin was being peeled back to reveal all his secrets. 

\--

Mycroft put the platter of meat and porridge and more meat and shall we have some eggs? In front of the man and watched him fill his plate skittishly.

How the hell had he managed to miss how abused Sebastian had been? He certainly hadn't shown it this obviously, but still...

_I wonder how much was... before... and how much was Moriarty? He'd certainly shed his cuffs quickly enough..._

"I hope the noise of the fans and my opening some windows doesn't bother you," he commented when Sebastian TWITCHED suddenly, "But strong smells after a migraine are... inadvisable."

Mycroft knew it was foolish- knew it even as his hand reached out and returned Sebastian's gesture- smoothing Sebastian's hair back and resting his fingers on him in a mirror of his own gesture of comfort to Mycroft. Mycroft never did know how to interact with people- but usually mimicking what they did to comfort you was safe enough.

Just... a stupid idea with your captor, or a trained combatant.

At least he was marginally ambidextrous and could do so without the gun wavering much.

\--

Sebastian busied himself with cutting his meat into very neat and very tiny squares- trying his damndest to get each equal. "No, that's- that's fine. Like having the windows open." Felt less constricting... but then there was the issue with sightlines, so he tried to keep the curtains in place... 

Okay, meat neatly cubed... now maybe he'd try to cube the porridge? Who knows, it might- 

_Mycroft moved._

_Somethingwastouchinghishead-_ he was about to panic, eyes starting to widen-

And then Mycroft's hand rubbed _that spot_ and he damn near _purred_ , arching his neck up and butting his head into the palm of Mycroft's hand- eyes slipping shut as he leaned into the touch. There was a whisper of a noise slipping from his lips and his fork clacked against plate-

And his eyes opened and he remembered where he was and who he was with, and Sebastian was certain his face was redder than a tomato, he could practically _feel_ the tips of ears darkening. 

Fucking _hell_ the man probably thought he was a goddamn touch-starved freak. 

Even if it _had_ been a month... at _least_ \- Jim had been rather... cold the weeks leading up to things... "Sorry-" He pulled back quickly, nearly falling off the chair- only recovering just barely and he shoved a forkful of meat cubes and porridge into his mouth so he couldn't act like a fool.

\--

Mycroft honestly didn't know what to do.

He was torn between feeling a bit smug that he wasn't the ONLY one acting ridiculous under stress- and feeling incredibly sorry for the man that he…

...acted like he was desperate for the slightest scrap of affection.

Mycroft found instead that he began mostly feeling angry at Moriarty, because clearly whatever trauma the man had suffered BEFORE him, he had neatly stepped in and twisted it to suit himself.

He began to wonder about the glimpses of the scars on the man, and Moriarty's fondness for carving apples, and tables, and walls... and people...

Nothing in what he had seen of Sebastian admitted of any possibility of his being THIS good an actor- he wasn't... he wasn't trying to get close to him to betray him, or lure him in with false sympathy…

He forcibly reminded himself that just because Sebastian was GENUINE didn't mean he wouldn't hurt him, or try to recapture him or kill him- in fact as panicky as he was... it was a danger.

Mycroft definitely recognized the obsessive structuring and ordering of whatever he could manage- _was he actually trying to cube his PORRIDGE?_

Mycroft sighed and went to the freezer and retrieved the ice cube tray, broke the ice out- while keeping an eye on the man carefully, and portioned porridge into the cubes.

"Here: it worked for my brother when he wouldn't eat anything that wasn't square- I think he went through a few years of that..." 

He returned to his chair and ate what he could.

\--

Sebastian was well versed in the art of ”genius mood tracking”- Mycroft was not Moriarty but... He clenched his jaw the same as Jim did, which typically meant- Mycroft stood and Sebastian averted his eyes and tried to relax his muscles: Jim liked the way his jaw looked with a smudge of color and maybe-

And then there was an ice cube tray plunked in front of him and Mycroft was... scooping his porridge into the little squares and- oh.

God, he wanted to sink through the floor and maybe reappear in... nowhere, actually, the earth could just fucking swallow him whole. 

Fucking mortifying- and the guilt too, because Mycroft very obviously was a much better man than him. He had every chance to treat him with the same cruelty- hell, he’d even been in _pain_ , and he’d refused. He tried to comfort him, even if it turned out... Weird, because he was a bit of a freak anymore.

_He cubed his fucking porridge._

He didn't deserve what Sebastian had planned to do to him. 

Sebastian added a meat cube to each little porridge block- almost looking like a moat... maybe he could- yes: the meat was stackable. He ate the mini-pyramids that collapsed. 

”I’m... sorry. About your brother. I know it doesn't help and I'm not exactly... someone you’d want sympathy from, but... I’m sorry.” Another civilization rose and fell and ended up in his stomach- ”I really did try to stop him. Like... Blowing a fan at a hurricane and hoping it'll change directions.”

\--

_No, this wasn't a villain- just another victim, no matter how dangerous. He_ reminded himself that Sebastian WAS dangerous.

"I doubt anything you could do would have... made a difference... in that," Mycroft said quietly, as he watched the man doing... really rather appalling things to his food- still Sherlock had done worse.

"Sebastian...Do you understand that... Moriarty had... threatened several people my brother cared deeply about, in order to make him jump? That there were - are for all we know- people still out there carrying out plans- some that Moriarty actually intended and some..." Mycroft sighed, "-and some that are interpretations from partial notes, and anger."

\--

He was used to being talked to in a patronizing tone. But this- while still carrying that same feeling felt... More like Mycroft was consoling or trying to reassure him, and- yes, he was, judging by those words. 

Ah. Work.

Easier topics. He could work on shoving this aside mentally while they-

Nope- nevermind. 

Scratch that. His plate was almost empty- several civilizations allowed to flourish as he felt the fist clench in his gut. “I was not allowed near that game. Until...” He took a breath and set his fork down. “I was assigned to Watson.” 

A very cruel final joke, a big ’gotcha!’ moment. 

”If- if we could... Not wait, but just- if I could shower and get into something clean-” something that didn't smell like the cellar, and a way to gather his thoughts ”- before we discuss this,” Sebastian gestured at Mycroft then himself, ”I would appreciate it. I can tell you though... This part was supposed to be his. Special and-” he frowned, ”Personal. I don't know what he was planning to do but I know the outcome he wanted. Know what outcome I decided on, too.” His hands found themselves drawn back to the fork and he toyed with the utensil. ”Middle pieces are the hard bits.”

\--

_So this was something he thought Moriarty had planned to do- without him- and he was trying to, in some odd way, finish his work? from... partial notes and anger and... Sigh._

He didn't think a desire for a shower was faked- it certainly played into his own issues, but it probably wasn't faked- Mycroft only managed to catch himself from closing his eyes trying to think just in time.

"Certainly," he tried for a friendly smile, he expected it came out rather flickeringly odd as it usually did. "Who handles anything well before they get cleaned up- I certainly didn't. Ah... I do wish I could return the favor of being a supporting hand but... I don't think I trust you that far as of yet.'' This time the apologetic smile was more genuine, if brief.

"Drop your clothing outside the bathroom door and I will arrange for it to be laundered and...I will find some clean clothes for you."

There was a great deal of silence that felt far more uncomfortable than usual.

As they got up to go to the shower Mycroft couldn't help but ask: "This... I'm quite serious, Sebastian- this involves ME? Not... no one else is going to be hurt or die because of this delay?"

He just looked guilty- not a change really- and shook his head no.

Mycroft sent him into the bathroom to shower and he sagged against the wall.


	9. Couch Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Not) Nearly all is revealed.

He normally didn't like it scalding hot- but there was an ever-growing pit of suspicion and worry in his stomach that, after he told Mycroft the truth, he would be summarily executed. 

He was strangely calm and okay with the idea. 

Or maybe he was just very, very tired anymore. 

He cracked the door and slid his clothes out, not even noticing the hair that covered them from his grooming session- normally easier to manage, but he hadn't been brushed in a month at least and with an undercoat as thick as his... He was too busy thinking of if there was anything he wanted to request Mycroft do; notify... Who? No point there, he did have his friends in the organization, but there was a careful and solid line drawn in the sand between them. They were, essentially, free- he was not.

And that was normally okay- having a line he couldn't cross and not really minding because Jim was more than enough- he didn't need the support or true friendship with the others if he had Jim... And Jim didn't like to share, and he liked having him available. 

The shower was far too hot for his comfort but it felt good- almost soothing, like he was being baptized and all the troubles were washing away. It wasn't his problem anymore- Mycroft would decide. Yes, he could shift and attack him, but what then? Why bother? He thought back to the touch on his head, sudsy hand coming up to press there for a moment. It wasn't the same.

Scrub, rinse, towel off, teeth, wrap a towel and- Fuck. He’d left those extra towels in the bedroom... He could choose between wrapping it around his chest and shoulders and walking about ’cock’sure- or he could wrap his legs and then... No. He didn't really like either of those. Mycroft hadn't been able to really see him before... He wasn't sure he wanted to correct that. Sebastian cracked the door open, just a sliver so Mycroft could hear him, standing a bit out of the way. "May I have something to wear, please? I don't care what- I just... I forgot to bring an extra towel.”

And then clothes were being shoved at him- hurriedly, through the door- and he didn't care much that Mycroft rooted through his things (because it didn't matter in the end, did it?). He at least had the sense to get things Sebastian liked the most... That _was_ his favorite shirt... He dressed quickly- feeling a tiny bit nude without all the weaponry that he normally wore with his jeans and boots- (Mycroft took the utility knife off his belt)- but it would be fine. He almost didn't put on his boots but... maybe Mycroft would march him outside? They were a little bit from anywhere else- and he _did_ have a silencer in his bag... He took his time lacing them- far too long really, but there was a kind of resignation in his soul that if this was this final chance to do so, he may as well savor it. 

Finally, he opened the door, straightening his shoulders and fixing that calm, self-assured look on his face that was so signature to him- ”Where would you like me?”

\--

Mycroft had taken the clothes from Sebastian without thinking- he had been able to see they were dirty. It was as he was setting up the laundry that he realized... not...'dirty' what was that... fine... hair?

He brushed his hand over the shirt and came up with a fine coating of... fur.

Mycroft's memory flashed back to the tub, covered in thin debris of some sort- he'd taken it for some kind of leaf litter or - worse- mold…

Fur?

He searched the clothing a bit more carefully and came up with quite a bit of fur- some soft and grey (underfur, his memory of biology supplied) and some longer and harsher... fur. Tawny like a cat…

Sebastian... had used were tranq's, as a matter of course- not even thinking about what they might do to a human.

_"You'd be surprised how well some hide..."_

_"Didn't want to get a faceful of claws..."_

Bathtub?

Tawny and black and white... Tigers were one of the great cats that like water...

The wrist cuffs were made for him, and felt rubbery? Changer restraints were usually quite obvious but he had HEARD there could be custom...

Sebastian melting under his hand and pressing up- arching into it like...a house-cat?

He would have to be rather heavily medicated...

Mycroft realized he had put together an outfit based on wear and the way Sebastian had put his clothes away and belatedly stripped the weapons out of them- although if he was correct... the man had weapons, always.

While Mycroft was standing- distracted and foolishly too close to the door- Sebastian asked for clothing. Mycroft pushed the bundle into his hands and walked clear of the door to think.

A... changer- a combat-trained SAS Colonel who became a were- was insanely valuable... if they could be controlled, if they responded to medication, if they didn't immediately go mad...

The part that didn't make any SENSE was that the man's intelligence seemed intact- he was only a bit... erratic and temperamental, but still quick-witted, quoting poetry, handling all the tactics of his kidnapping by himself…

Because he clearly didn't have a handler.

Not anymore.

Sebastian came out of the bathroom, a confident expression pasted on his face over what could only be described as docile, or resigned, body language.

Mycroft cleared his throat- he really was a very handsome man- "Over to the sofa I suppose?... ah... my apologies, I forgot to get a hairbrush for you...

\--

Mycroft had this... dazed look to him- Sebastian made note to ask if he needed another pill or if he wanted to maybe wait and get more injectors- _no, he was just stalling..._ He nodded, running a hand through his hair- and pausing halfway through the action when Mycroft mentioned the brush. And an _apology_ for it, too. Sebastian wondered if the man apologized for everything... he had Sebastian "captive" and was _apologizing_ to him about a _hairbrush_. He shook his head. 

"No- I don't own one anyway." Did he sound like a scruffy vagabond? Christ. "Jim'd make me fix it if he didn't like it or I had to dress up," he explained hurriedly, making sure to keep his hands in clear view as he headed to the couch- and sat down on the floor in front of it, back leaning against it. More for him (he spent far too much time lounging about as a cat anymore) than for Mycroft, but... it did make him look smaller, giving the man a superficial 'power advantage'. 

"Had to keep it shorter before, but-" he shrugged, fingers tugging at the worn carpet, "Haven't had to cut it in... a good while."

He took a deep breath- trying to brace himself mostly, because even if he had accepted it, it was still hard to actually _do_ what he'd promised. "How do you want... do you just ask questions and I'll answer- or do you want me to start... from the beginning?" 

\--

Mycroft watched the man settle himself on the floor in front of the sofa. It wasn't clear whether he was doing so from habit or to emphasize that he wasn't dangerous- probably both. He called Moriarty 'Jim' in a thoughtless fashion- no hesitation, that was just what he was called: a permitted informality then.

Just answer questions? Mycroft had no idea where to start- there were so many questions.

so many... 

He carefully sat down on the sofa, taking the offered position behind the man: he knew enough military to know that was either an honor or a gesture of surrender.

Sebastian's hair was sticking up every which way and... Mycroft very hesitantly reached out... "Ah... if I may?"

Sebastian made a questioning noise and turned his head- almost into Mycroft's hand- he found himself repeating the smoothing gesture from before, only this time...

This time he pictured fur and ears, and cautiously combed his fingers through the hair and rubbed...

\--

Mycroft was behind him and that was not something he was... okay with, not with the man having a gun and not with the very obvious rift between them (we are enemies) but- Mycroft asked something and Sebastian turned his head and then his hand was in his hair again. Damp from the shower but quickly drying, already soft fluffs near the ends of the strands and his shoulders dropped, the carefully held tension in his body melting away. Not much confidence in the touch at first, but then his fingers grew more curious, pressing and prodding and then-- ahh, _yes_ , there--

Sebastian half turned so he was almost fully facing the sofa, giving him the space to rest his head against the cushion. He cracked his eyes open- _gun, far too close_ and stiffened- but then shifted again so he was facing the other way. How cowardly- not wanting to know if or when. "'M not..." his protest was soft, he was giving into this and getting comfortable far too quickly, but... ' _People living deeply have no fear of death.'_ \- Especially not after having lived _with_ death- but... Still, he would take the coward's way, every time. It was how he was alive so long to begin with. 

\--

Mycroft saw the man react to the sight of the pistol, stiffen, and turn away. He relaxed again, but not like he had before- too much tension, too much... expectation, Mycroft supposed.

"I expect I have figured out some very large pieces of this, but the details are... opaque," Mycroft admitted, trying to see if he could evoke the same reaction from before... no, apparently not.

"I have so many questions I scarcely know where to begin."

\--

"You should ask," Sebastian replied, eyes shut as he pressed into the touch- far too intimate but he would greedily take any comfort he could get. Life was, as he knew, far too short to expect to be able to 'gain' anything from waiting. "I don't... know what you know," thank christ for the sped-up healing of being shifted, or his throat would be screaming at him- "and... you have a gun," a very logical point, "and I have a history of saying things that I expect sound... logical, but are in fact fairly terrifying." Easy to read: He would prefer not to say something that might scare the man and invite him to shoot him. 

\--

"Very well: you are a were- a tiger to be specific, and I have no idea what drugs you must be on, but they are obviously like nothing I am familiar with."

\--

If he _was_ a cat- the hair down his spine would have prickled and stiffened and he would have fluffed up large (and rather unintimidating, really). But he was a man, and Mycroft _had a gun._ So he swallowed hard- tried not to stiffen under the man's touch, and very carefully remained still. "How-" Did it matter _how_ he knew? No. "When-" _Also not important, Moran-_ "You didn't- you haven't... shot me...?" The unspoken _yet_ was audible as the rest of his words. _ALSO wasn't an important question, MORAN!_

He squeezed his eyes tight- trying to think- "Six years. Mission... gone wrong. Fri-" _facts_ "Troop died- I survived- I guess."

\--

The man facing away from him didn't negate his ability to read body language, but it would have limited it severely- but having his fingers on the man's scalp balanced that out.

He tensed badly- Mycroft suspected the instinct was to violence but his control was... incredible.

"How?- When?-" a swallow "You didn't- you haven't... shot me...?" his heart rate was fast but he was trying to control it, trying to force his muscles to unlock and go passive…

His next words were momentarily confusing but… a mission gone wrong 6 years ago when they were attacked by a were: he had obviously been close to those men, and likely… from the way he added that he 'guessed' he survived, he carried a great deal of guilt and the aftermath was likely extremely bad.

Mycroft let the man's breathing settle a hair to be certain he would even hear him.

"I should have realized when I saw the bathtub, but... well I wasn't coherent, really and my eyes were..." Mycroft sighed, "Sadly I must confess that I had no idea until I found the fur covering your clothing, and realized you had spent the time in the basement shifted."

He paused for a moment, "I am not intending to shoot you unless you give me no choice, but- I hope you understand that I also have no intention of putting the gun DOWN as yet."

\--

The shedding, damnit- the fucking _shedding_. "I-" Obvious embarrassment- "I shed, if I'm not- uhm, brushed regularly." And he had gone from getting a good brushing nearly daily to... nothing. Because only _Jim_ was allowed to do that. 

Christ- it was relieving to hear but also very worrisome... because Mycroft made it clear that Sebastian knew _far_ too much- how could he possibly walk away from this? "Mycroft... I will not be a captive and I will not allow myself to be taken for... _questioning._ I told you I would answer truthfully. And I will. So get the information you want from me now, because if you or anyone else try to take me back there- I _will_ give you a reason." The last line was growled- low and serious, but he stayed as he was. He was relieved that Mycroft may not just... put him down like a stray mutt, but he would rather force the man's hand than ever end up back where he had been before.

\--

"Back...there?" Mycroft sighed, "I don't know anything about your background except what you have told me and I have deduced."

Mycroft pulled his hand away since it seemed to be an irritation rather than a reassurance.

"I… have rarely dealt with weres: not my department, and the few I have dealt with were useful, but… the medication needed to keep them sane seemed to dull their wits rather extremely. Whatever Moriarty had made for you seems to leave your intelligence and capabilities intact, which would be… very helpful."

Mycroft was going to continue but that seemed to have caused an unanticipated response.

\--

The first bit was surprising enough- he expected Holmes would be the type to know _everything_ that happened 'under his watch'- regardless of how mundane and routine it was. He was bound to have were guards, he was bound to have dealt with the repeated issues they caused. 

Yet he claimed ignorance. 

Dull their wits. 

Leaves his intelligence and capabilities intact.

Sebastian let out a sharp bark of laughter- the hand pulling away from him _(of course, removal of comfort as an incentive...)_ making him bristle further but he did not move despite his tensed muscles and the desire to whirl around, glare into those eyes. "Medication. _Sedatives,_ * you mean. They're _supposed_ to dull the mind. Because that- combined with enough fucking beatings- will make any _animal_ do what it's told in order to stop the pain. Trust me, Mycroft- I _know_ how it works. I was in that _rehabilitation_ program- it's slavery at the best and mind control at the worst and I have not had any drugs pumped through my veins since I was rescued from those facilities. There _are_ no drugs. He's _never_ given me any." 

\--

Mycroft very carefully didn't move.

_He… believed that? That was certainly not what I knew…_

"Would you feel more comfortable if I moved further away? I...had thought...touching your hair seemed comforting before."

Mycroft muttered under his breath, in French as he was prone to, "Not that I'm terribly good at that."

\--

He responded automatically- because that was something Jim did, work on things in another language, try to confuse and muddle Sebastian up- and he seemed to get rewarded the most when he was able to respond to whatever it was the man said. It wasn't perfect- obvious grammar errors and he _might_ have gotten the gendering wrong for a word, but- "Well I- didn't tell you to _stop_ ," grumbled and huffed out in French, and Sebastian very pointedly moved in so he could rest his head against the man's thigh. 

\--

Mycroft blinked and slowly put his hand back, petting and rubbing circles and following what seemed to be a positive response.

"I… can tell you believe what you are saying, Sebastian, but it contradicts everything I was ever told, or read in textbooks, about weres... "

He considered, "I don't have any in use in my department-except the bomb-sniffing teams, and I rarely deal with them.. .and the outer perimeter security teams: I am considered too valuable to risk a were getting near me."

Mycroft shrugged, "My value is my intelligence: if I was infected I would be put down immediately as a danger to state security."

\--

 _I can tell you believe what you are saying._ Meaning... he thought didn't Sebastian was lying- rather... he thought Sebastian had been _lied_ to. "I can't... show you anything- proof, if there is any... I don't have it here. It'd be in Jim's office and-" _And I have managed to avoid home for a month._

_If I was infected I would be put down immediately._

Sebastian brought a hand up- an action he realized only after may be seen threateningly- and placed it on the man's thigh, near where his head rested. "I have not been drugged or medicated since I was... set to be disposed of and since Jim saved me-" He turned his head so he was facing towards Mycroft, blue eyes looking up at him. "I can say that this-" he nodded slightly, "-is all me. I've had nothing. He's given me nothing. And there is _ **no**_ chance that is a lie- or that he dosed me secretly. I may not be... normal, or even the most... sane- but I am just as lucid as you. And I have been, for years."

\--

Mycroft blinked at him, "Disposed of… what an obvious stupidity on… whoever's part. "

Mycroft considered carefully, "I am, honestly, trying to understand. I am also- I admit- usually entirely disinterested in any other departments unless they cross my department or one of my personal interests. I get overwhelmed enough with my work; trying to… trying to be involved in every aspect of the world would be madness.”

"If the… infected could be taught to control themselves, to be SAFE and SANE but still retain their wits? They would actually be far more valuable- more useful- so… I do not understand why they wouldn't be." Mycroft tilted his head and took his eyes off Sebastian, considering, "Although even I follow habits: if it is simply tradition and the only way things are done… weres are dangerous, most people would be disinclined to change a system that appears to work."

\--

That was the _wrong_ thing to say- _taught, safe, sane. **Be more valuable...**_

Like they were _things,_ not people. Like they were... _nothing_ and garbage if they couldn't be used- "Tradition." Sebastian clenched his jaw- "Because _tradition_ is always right, isn't it? In that case- let's bring back all _great_ traditions, because that's the way things were done. Slavery- your rich posh type already have the weres as pets, drugged out of their minds and terrified that if they try to stand up for themselves they'll be killed, let's just bring it back nice and proper. And of course- might as well roll back other more... 'modern' views as well, since we're going by the way things were done- fuck women's rights, and I like men so that's another one to add as a black spot for me." Sebastian lifted his head up, meeting Mycroft's eyes. 

"I was _already_ dangerous before this- I'd killed or wounded people on orders for this country- but it's the fact that I was attacked and almost _died_ doing what I was told that makes me dangerous. What makes people- no, sorry, I technically don't even have the _rights_ of a person…” He spat, “What makes an _anima_ l like me dangerous is fear. Wake up terrified and in pain and afraid that you'll be killed- and then panic, because you want to survive. Your migraines- imagine that, forced into a form that you don't know how to control, where everything is so much louder and sharper and crisper and you _hurt_ \- because of course you do, because your body is trying to heal itself but it doesn't know _how_ with this new form. And no one around you talks to you like you're there- like you can understand them. They don't explain anything, what happened, what's happening- where you're being taken, what you're being given- _that's_ what made me attack. 

“That's what makes _dozens_ of weres attack- you hear horror stories about how bad they are and how dangerous and stupid- and then when it happens you're terrified- can't even think from all that's happening and they won't treat you like you might understand- the infected aren't taught a damn thing- those guard dogs and the weres you see from where you sit? They don't know anything. They're just afraid that if they don't sit still and shut up and listen to orders they'll be beaten and drugged with those tranqs and then disposed of- killed." 

Sebastian took a breath and pinched his eyes shut- his fists clenched and nails digging crescents into his palms."They are not _working_ for your government. They do not have homes and families and they don't even have the same rights as the man who holds the gun to their head- the man who is holding the gun to _my_ head. They are there because their choices are to live a life pumped so full of drugs they can barely think for themselves... or be killed." His face took on a pained expression and Sebastian pulled back, away from Mycroft's touch. "You were brought here because we thought- if you _knew_ what it felt like- if you understood... you'd be able to help. You could- people would not have to end up like me. Or worse, the hundreds of weres who got put down like dogs because they didn't want to be owned. Jim wanted- he told me he wanted to infect you because you would listen and know. You would have to fight for your own rights- and that meant you'd have to fight for ours."

\--

Mycroft folded his hands in his lap and listened- he had completely gotten everything backwards, but he was stating his case...

And then…

_Moriarty planned to...what?_

Mycroft went over Moriarty's profile- the official one and his personal one- while he waited to be certain that Sebastian would hear him.

"First of all: you have what I said backwards." Mycroft casually and expertly ejected the ammunition from the pistol and cleared the chamber. "At best I would wound you and the presence of the firearm is merely making you aggravated." He put the empty pistol on the side table.

"Now please pay attention: I SAID that tradition may be the explanation for why things are being done this way- I did not say it was correct, or desirable. Tradition has hobbled progress in uncounted areas- yes, including women's rights: how many brilliant minds wasted because they were not able to get an education?"

Mycroft frowned down at Sebastian: "FACTS, Colonel Moran, are FACTS: if the reason things are being done in a certain way is tradition? You had best acknowledge it- how far do you get with a local village if you do not understand that they do things a certain way because it has BEEN done that way? Sometimes those traditions are there for very good reasons- or what had, in the past, been very good reasons-" Mycroft curled his lip, "-and sometimes its small and petty minds trying to keep hold of authority and power they should have lost generations ago."

He raised an eyebrow, "Now shall we discuss the issues with the OTHER part of your statement?"

\--

Flashbacks to school- and tutors, and his father, and his drill sergeant, and Jim- and anyone else who had sat him down and worked on beating something into his skull. 

And Mycroft easily pushed them all aside- even Jim- with ease and took his place on the throne. 

If Sebastian were able to hold a partial shift more easily, he might've had his ears out- and if, hypothetically, he did have them out when Mycroft mercilessly ripped apart his tirade- they would be pressed back flat against his head. His anger had already dissipated by the time he'd finished his own rant, but it was well and truly buried beneath an immense weight of guilt and shame by the end of Mycroft's brutal dissection of his words. 

The gun moved and Sebastian flinched badly- _oh god he didn't want to be human for that he wanted to be strong and brave and please let him roll on the grass one more time_ -and then the chamber was ejected and the magazine unloaded and Sebastian almost melted into the floor with the relief that washed over him. 

He listened quietly, eyes fixed on the threads in Mycroft's trousers, unable to work up the bravery to look up into those blistering winter-sky eyes (Iceman for sure- he felt cut to the bone). 

Oh god- what other part of his statement?! There was more- worse- coming?! Sebastian ducked his head, that tone of voice almost making the action instinctive- "Yes, Sir-" Reflexive- And then quieter, "Sorry, Sir..."

\--

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and considered. 

"No. I do not think you are in any condition at the moment to go over the rest of this given how poorly you understood my statements in the first place."

Mycroft pointed a finger directly at the man's bowed head, "For the moment you will simply accept this: you have misunderstood a great deal, and you are clearly NOT going to take any actions until I am certain you DO understand. That most especially involves deliberately infecting ANYONE.

Is.

that.

 _clear._ "

\--

Oh god, not now- wait, that meant more later- which meant there was a later. Which meant Mycroft was _not leaving._

There was a movement in his peripheral vision- he was fairly certain he managed to hold in the flinch. 

The hit didn't land- but the words did and he shriveled even further. "Yes Sir, I understand." Later, he would be mortified at following so obediently- But that tone was so familiar and he fell back into the most basic thing he knew at this point: listen to the genius in the suit, and do _not_ piss him off.

\--

Mycroft reached forward and rubbed at that spot that he seemed to like, "Now if you can behave like a reasonable individual I believe we are both overdue for a proper lunch."

\--

Another hand and- _ooh._

_oooohhhhh._

The man's hands were different from Jim's, even if there was the same nimble dexterity- Mycroft's were a bit larger, but slender and dainty- almost feminine. And they _really_ fucking knew how to- _god_ -Sebastian pressed his head up into the touch, lips parting to let out a soft noise. He cracked his eyes open, a soft domesticity instead of the harsh anger before- following what nearly six years of _Jim_ trained into him, made into instinct… "What would you like to eat?" 

\--

Sebastian had, as he hoped, at least temporarily converted to following old habits- except instead of Moriarty he was listening to Mycroft.

Now to keep that in place until he could... convince him of some new facts.

"I do know how to cook, but... now that I know the agent I was going to meet is not the target, I need to contact him and let him know I am merely delayed- otherwise he will be sounding an alarm shortly." Mycroft put a hand under the man's elbow and gave him a nudge to his feet- he was remarkably graceful, like most expert combatants…

_I wonder how much is the cat, though?_

"I shall leave the choice of lunch to you, but... extreme spices are not advisable with a recent migraine- for me, you may add whatever you wish to yours."


	10. Shifted Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't scream.

Mycroft had business to deal with, telling the guy he was going to... be late? A few days? A few hours? Who knew, really- and Sebastian got to work. Keeping his hands busy kept his mind busy, and he focused on taking the locks off the cabinet doors (why bother, now?) and working on lunch. Something simple- he was almost _always_ able to eat, and stress fucking ate through his breakfast. Shrimp alfredo with a simple side salad and an easily made lemon vinaigrette... and then he was plating and setting the table before heading towards the bedroom. He knocked on the closed door, god knows if they were communicating via a phone call, or a private server, or fucking _smoke signals_ for all he knew- so he stayed on the polite side. 

And then they were eating- sitting at the same table. Jim would likely be cackling at his stupidity from his throne in hell, but... there was less tension than at their last meal- or the one before that. "Did you manage to let your agent know you weren't dead in a ditch?" Was he allowed to ask? Who knew. He didn't. Or were they just going to sit in silence? He wasn’t sure what he preferred.

\--

Mycroft came out to find a perfectly delightful lunch- and promptly realized he was very hungry indeed (likely from stress).

"This..." he said after a mouthful, "is quite delightful. And an excellent choice on the vinaigrette." He nodded and watched as the man looked completely stunned, and… _oh that was a delightful smile. Good God didn't Moriarty ever- no, of course, he probably kept praise strictly limited._

"As to my agent... for security sake, we have no direct contact but I left a properly coded message telling them I was delayed." He shrugged, "I will have to keep confirming my welfare but we have codes for that."

Mycroft ate more of the truly lovely meal and made a point of inquiring and commenting favorably on his skill in the kitchen- "So few people seem to learn to cook, It will be... helpful if you can act as an occasional chef."

He ate a few more bites, allowing Sebastian to see him visibly enjoying his meal. "Now... there are business matters to discuss, but..." Mycroft carefully couched this in very undemanding terms- he might be being appallingly forward for all he knew- "You indicated that you normally had a thorough brushing? I take it that means that you... maintain your control even shifted? As I said I am less than familiar with this and do not wish to be rude, but... I would be interested in seeing you shift, if that's not too impolite, and perhaps I can assist in brushing you?"

\--

Sebastian was pleased to see the man eating- with Jim, he'd gotten accustomed to having to remind the man to eat, but Mycroft seemed more than eager to have a decent meal schedule _and_ he enjoyed his food- good. Enough that he even complimented it. Christ, he'd missed cooking for someone. _Missed being with someone._

"If you've... gotta deal with that, you can- we're not-" He took a breath. "We're not far outta London, and I thought you were on bereavement leave- if someone's going to end up calling it in that you're gone, you should handle that." Sebastian wasn't sure if Mycroft would think that was a good idea- "If it's me- technically, I can get outta the bed if you cuffed me there; basement too unless I'm tranq'd, but I'll... stay. Not like anyone's expecting me or will notice I'm gone if I don't check in." He stabbed at a shrimp, plucking it off the fork. 

Oh- 

_Oh._

Sebastian chewed slowly, trying not to appear _too_ excited about the idea of a brushing- god he could _never_ say no to a good brushing... and it had been _weeks_ since he’d last been touched. "No- uhm," he poked at the pasta, "S'not rude. Ask whatever you want. I'll try to answer if I can. Control's easy once you've learned it- takes practice at first. That's why-" he gnawed at his bottom lip, "First time, lots don't expect it. It's a lot of new senses- or enhanced ones. You can't move right and it's... very intense until you're used to it. Jim had to walk me through it for a while, I was... very injured and shifting speeds up healing- but if you've got real bad injuries, it wants to help and tries, but it just ends up healing things wrong." He could vouch for that- the body trying to heal properly, but with the damage that had been done on his chest, parts kept fusing and resplitting, more pain scaring him into a shift, a horrible cycle. "But I mean, I'm good now. Not too good at partial shifts, never can get it to stay very long, but I'm fine with that. Normally spend... about equal parts of my day shifted. I like it. Feels safe," he stabbed another shrimp, "Only lost control at the start- but that was extreme circumstances. There was one other time, but that was... Jim's fault. And even then, it was just like getting pissed as a person. But instead of throwing things, I just ripped things." 

He took a breath to steady himself, then looked up to meet Mycroft's gaze- "I'd like that, actually. S'fine to go without, normal cats do it all the time, but it's like having a massage. Feels nice."

\--

Mycroft tried to parse through all the excitement and... _oh good heavens the poor man was..._

_more starved for praise than I was._

"Well… how do you... normally manage? Shower first or after?" Mycroft looked around thoughtfully, "Also I suspect I will want to change into casual wear to avoid getting fur on my good suits, and... possibly put down a sheet."

\--

"Well, when it was done regularly it wasn't _too_ bad- lint roller would clean off his clothes, but it's been a while, so a sheet'll be best. Plenty of spares in the hall closet. If... the hair's an issue... I can bathe before, as a tiger, get a lot of the loose fur off." Sebastian could feel the tips of his ears turning pink- "I like baths. Tigers, water- they mix well." 

\--

"The hair is not an issue as long as I am in... clothes that can be laundered." Mycroft nodded.

"Get whatever supplies will be needed and I shall go change clothing."

Mycroft went off and changed into something easily thrown in the wash, and tried not to look too excited at the prospect of touching an actual tiger- or a were one at least.

\--

The food was cleaned up as quickly as possible- he didn't bother to wash anything, only throwing it in the sink... He didn't have the patience for that. Not now... Not when he had an attrac- _nope!_ -not when he someone willing to fucking _brush_ him... those hands? _Christ!_

He had his tiger brush- of course, he had his brush, even if he didn't expect to have someone to use it. That, a large sheet (one of the large plain ones that had covered the furniture of the house) and he was ready- sheet spread on the living room floor. "I can't talk-" he warned when Mycroft came out, looking like this was almost an everyday occurrence for him. Did _anything_ ruffle the man? Well- okay, anything but everything he'd done before... Did anything ruffle him in... a good way? A good ruffling? "I mean, I can understand you and you're smart- you'll be able to tell if I'm 'saying' anything." Sebastian passed the man the brush, then paused- "Did you... uhm, want to see me shift? Or would you prefer I go and come back?" 

\--

"I would actually be quite interested in seeing you shift- if you don't mind? I have never seen a were shift at all."

Mycroft was very deliberately NOT saying that he was grateful he wouldn't be dealing with a naked HUMAN Sebastian in the bath, because from what he recalled of their last foray into the shower that would be devastating.

\--

Sebastian nodded- "It's not... like werewolf movies or anything. Bit... foggy to look at. Like you're looking through a warped mirror, almost- well, I mean, you'll see," he babbled, immediately moving to slip off his socks (he'd abandoned his shoes before lunch... shoes inside? On the carpets/rugs/hardwood floors? Not on Jim's watch-). And then his pants- unbuttoning them and pulling them down underwear pulled down as well. He kicked them off his leg and to the side, already tugging his shirt over the back of his head and tossed it into the pile. 

Oh christ he forgot this wasn't- 

He was so used to be nude, or nearly nude- only a single article of clothing away from it because he spent so much time shifted... that it was easier than getting fully dressed. 

He'd forgotten that Mycroft was _not_ Jim and had _not_ seen him naked and did _not_ need a full view of his body- and instead of dealing with that whole... mess- he shifted. 

It was incredibly easy and fluid- as if ‘Sebastian’ was rather water, two cups being the two shapes he could take. He simply... poured into the other, barely taking a single breath to do so. 

Sebastian blinked large, out-of-place blue eyes at Mycroft, ears tucked back nervously, sitting like he was about to be judged at a cat competition. 

_Please don't scream._

\--

Mycroft had only moments to school his expression as Sebastian rather eagerly shed clothing.

The man was incredibly fit and attractive and moved well- which as a fencer Mycroft truly appreciated- and then as more skin came into view so did the scars that Mycroft had glimpsed- or felt in the shower.

The major scar - the one that had been obvious in the shower- was not shrapnel as he had supposed, but very likely from the tiger attack: that was a sobering reminder of what a tiger could DO to you.

There were marks he might expect- knowing the man had been a prisoner- but they were distressing and, quite a few were a bit too familiar. The ones he found harder to deal with were the ones that had been clearly done by Moriarty. The M scarred on his hip he had expected, but there seemed to be others that were- also deliberate.

Sebastian looked up, looked panicked, and then…

It was nothing like a movie- it couldn't easily be described, but it was a BIT like watching a hologram turn and one image faded into another. One moment there was a naked and alarmed looking human, and in the next a rather large Tiger that…

Well, Mycroft had never made a study of tiger body language but he thought the (blue-eyed) tiger looked self-conscious and rather a bit like a junior student standing for review.

He almost seemed to be trying to conceal- the scar on his chest?

"I've never been this close to a tiger, before," Mycroft began conversationally, "I knew you would be large but... somehow one pictures Tigers as being smaller." When Sebastian the tiger showed signs of trying to crouch into a smaller profile he chuckled, "I wasn't complaining." _Most especially since you just proved you can understand me._

He walked up slowly with his hands in sight and held out the brush, "Now... I've never brushed a Tiger, of course, only curried and brushed a horse on occasion, so I hope you will bear with me, and... if I am bothering you or hurting you just... er... move away or perhaps tap on the ground with your paw?"

Mycroft drew the brush carefully over the fur, and followed it with a hand... Oh... that was such a very peculiar feeling- guard hairs, sleek fur, fluffy underfur…

And a veritable WAD of fur came up with the brush.

"Good heavens, I scarcely touched you!"

Sebastian looked, if anything a bit abashed- but made it clear that he could be brushed with a bit more vigor… _and he had said it was like a massage?_

His next swipe with the brush he leaned into it a bit, and dragged the brush as he pulled...

\--

He had been worried, at first, that he might've looked a bit too intimidating- god knows his presence like this just laying at Jim's feet had, at times, literally sent men screaming, but... 

Mycroft seemed to take it well, even giving him guidelines so Sebastian could let him know if it hurt... Jim had never done that- but then again, Jim's hands had never faltered and he had always held a strange aura of confidence when Sebastian was shifted. 

And then he'd run the brush down his back- too lightly -but the pull of fur coming up was nice... and the touch that followed it... 

And then he- _ohgoddddddd_

Sebastian let out a low, though loud due to his size, huffing sound and then practically collapsed onto the sheet- limbs stretching out and tail lazily swishing back and forth on the covering. Another large wad of fur was left stuck to the brush and Sebastian rubbed against Mycroft's legs, leaving the beginnings of what would surely be a carpet of fur on the man. 

_ooohhh yes fuck yes oh pleasepleaseplease_

Another low noise, as if impatient and eager for Mycroft to get to work. He was large- and would insist on every inch being brushed over.

\--

 _Oh My! Oh.._. Mycroft tried desperately to maintain some professional distance…

And failed

He dragged the brush down and across all of him- there was a lot of him- and dug his hands into the fur, rubbed at (quite a lot) of muscles, and barely refrained from trying to lie on the man.

He was large and warm and furry and solid and the only damn thing wrong with him was some rather tragic scars... and the fact that he absolutely NEVER ran out of shedding fur.

He made rumbling noises and... well it was momentarily alarming when the bloody great scimitars popped out of his paws, but it seemed to be the bigger version of a house-cat kneading the ground- or the air…

He made a point of watching out for the location of those paws.

Eventually, when the amount of fur coming off on the brush seemed to have decreased a bit, and the amount of fur piled on the sheet appeared to be about twice the size of the original tiger, Mycroft declared defeat.

"I am afraid, Sebastian," he said to the cat, currently laying splayed upside down because Mycroft had been working on his stomach, "That I must, for the moment, concede- but then you have not been brushed in some time and I should have expected it would take more than one session."

He shook his arm out- again- "Do you feel up to a bath?"

\--

Sebastian rumbled and grumbled- sounds pouring out of him for every second of the very thorough grooming... He was pretty sure he shredded the sheet when he was on his stomach- and made very careful care not to put his paws near Mycroft, except when the man was working on his arms. 

And his stomach- oh _goddd_ he might've been contemplating kidnapping the man again because jesus _fuck_ he didn't want to go without that ever again...

Mycroft's announcement of defeat was greeted with a series of chuffing sounds, tiger's eyes crinkled in amusement as he rolled onto his feet. Sebastian tried very hard not to seem _that_ hopeful about a second brushing, but he still rolled to his feet and immediately began to push against Mycroft with his head, trying to herd the man towards the bathroom. He easily hindered the process by winding around the man's legs, and when he didn't appear to be moving fast enough Sebastian turned and with a surprising level of dexterity- showing rather good motor skills and very large teeth- tugged at the edge of Mycroft's hairy shirt, practically pulling the man into the bathroom. 

He stepped into the tub, barely having to change his gait. Sebastian barely fit in the tub, his tail curled around him as he sat back on his haunches, paws resting on the edge as he watched Mycroft with a pleased expression- and as close to a smile as a tiger could get.


	11. The terrifying weretiger and the implacable iceman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baths, naps, and babbles.

Mycroft found Sebastian fairly easy to read in this form- which was a relief- probably due to the fact that his body language was not entirely feline. He did remember that squinted eyes was a form of happiness or smile, and the ears made remarkably good ‘flags’ to Sebastian’s mood...

Of course pushing and dragging Mycroft bodily toward the bath was extremely easy to understand.

“Hmm, well a good showering off,” Mycroft contemplated the drains and luckily found a hair catcher, “And a scrub and then you can have a soak while I start dealing with the laundry…”

Much as he hated taking off the clothes they were already covered in fur and he expected would become soaked in short order. “I am trying to remind myself that you saw rather a bit more of me than I did of you,” Mycroft braced himself and pulled off the clothing.

He laid down towels- “More towels, or a MUCH larger tub, or… hmm… a pool shower? Yes, that's obviously the answer…” Mycroft muttered as he set up the bathroom and got a shower going.

He studied the various shampoos and eventually found a mild soap- he frowned at Sebastian, “I’m QUITE certain we need to find you a better shampoo, until then I shall use this one if you don’t mind?”

It was precisely as messy as he had anticipated. Water everywhere, soaking wet towels, and soap all over… but Sebastian practically melted under the scrubbing. “It's like a cross between trying to do Sherlock’s hair as a child, and trying to bathe Redbeard…” Mycroft found himself talking to Sebastian rather idly - especially as he was scraping hair out of the drain when it overwhelmed the hair catcher.

“I was going to have a dog, and do conformation and possibly obedience, and we brought home a potential championship setter and… well, my dog with the pedigree and the potential champion conformation turned into Sherlock’s playmate. I suppose it was better for him since we… we really didn't have anyone else to deal with.” He scrubbed lather into the wall of muscle and fur, carefully avoiding the eyes and rinsed him off, and then peeled gauntlets of fur off his arms.

“James- Moriarty- probably told you most of this, but perhaps not,” Mycroft carefully cleaned between the pads of the big cat, and did his best to clean those claws- the nail brush was entirely insufficient, but he worked on it anyway.

“Of course, since Sherlock couldn’t even keep himself clean- back then, before he suddenly became extremely vain about his appearance- you understand that as soon as the poor dog needed a bath he was suddenly ‘Mycroft’s dog’ again.” Mycroft shook his head and laughed, “Well at least he was more amenable to bathtime than Sherlock was most days.”

He carefully held up the big chin and started scrubbing the fur around his head and rinsing off his face- thankfully an intelligent animal could close his eyes when asked to!

Once he had melted the tiger- frankly he was almost surprised his stripes weren’t sliding off of him the way he looked- and rinsed off all traces of soap, he filled the tub back up with clean water.

“Now you soak for a bit while I start laundry, and then I have left you the last dry towel in the house- possibly the country: I expect it's easier to dry off as a human.”

Sebastian played at grabbing him and dragging him into the tub, and ‘chuffed’ at him, and Mycroft rubbed behind those enormous ears and he ended up laying his head on the side of the tub with his eyes shut…

A portrait of urban tiger contentment.

Mycroft hauled everything out, wrung the excess water from it all, swept and vacuumed as much of the fur off before he completely destroyed the washing machine, and started laundry.

He managed to haul on his pajamas with arms that felt like jelly and a back rather protesting the posture he had been keeping- his knees didn't bear mentioning- and went to do just a bit of work on the sofa…

He was asleep within moments.

\--

Amazing, wonderful, heaven- there weren't enough adjectives to describe how lovely it was to be clean... Despite the fur weighing almost nothing, he felt lighter- emotionally and physically. 

And Mycroft had been talkative, which he enjoyed. He knew a lot about Sherlock but not as much about Mycroft- despite Jim having worked with him for years, long before Sebastian was around even. But Jim had always told him to forget about the elder Holmes-

_He’s a bore, darling... Now go get your brush._

-Even when _Sebastian_ was fairly worried about his presence. 

But now... 

Now, Sebastian thought that Mycroft should get a dog- or maybe a cat, he was very good with cats- or maybe some sort of pet because the man was very nice and seemed to really enjoy the time he got to spend petting and brushing and combing. Sebastian also thought that Mycroft needed a masseuse- and he was _going_ to make sure he had his lady's number, because she was very good and her loyalty to Jim had been based on a favor he had done for her, not out of fear or pain or threats. The man was far too tense... though that could just be Sebastian's presence. God knows he wasn't very... calming. 

It was all very nice, honestly... Staying shifted or not shifted didn't _seem_ to have any good or bad effects, but Sebastian really enjoyed being a big cat. It relaxed him in a different way... the fact that he was, quite literally an apex predator suited for killing and defending himself did help. Not being able to be who he was freely had been... irritating, a bit- like his clothes felt too tight on him, but now that Mycroft _knew_ and... miraculously enough- didn't _seem to care_ all that much... being so bold as to strip down (he was glad tigers could not turn red) to scrub at him. Sebastian was careful not to let his eyes land anywhere for very long, he didn't want to make him uncomfortable- even if he did want to trace over a few odd scars and ask how the man got them. The starburst on his shoulder- not a bullet, but a puncture of some kind? And obviously old, too… The odd wound on his chest, near the man’s heart- just looking at it reminded him of his own wound, the symmetry between him and Mycroft evident. And his knees- a light mark on one, the other… 

How was he walking?

He found Mycroft in the living room, on the couch, mouth partly open and his phone clenched in his hand against his chest, sleeping. He had a hundred problems with waking the man- Mycroft obviously had some post-traumatic stress, he hadn't gone 24 hours without a migraine yet, he'd been dosed very hard and kidnapped... Sebastian let him sleep. He changed over the laundry to the dryer, very quietly cleaned up the things from... lunch? Late lunch/dinner- their schedules were very off... Mycroft was still asleep and who knew how he reacted to being woken up... especially if it was by a man who was, in the easiest way to say it, his enemy's pet. So he grabbed his book and sat on the floor, back to the couch, and tried to read- he really did- but... Mycroft made a noise... 

And then he was watching him sleep- he had a very nice profile... he looked aristocratic, even in his jammies. Sebastian was always a sucker for the poshy, uptight, a bit too big in their britches ones- something Jim seemed to enjoy rubbing his face in- but fuck him if there wasn't something intoxicating about seeing someone so cool and slick get flushed and flustered. Jim'd said it was a daddy issues thing (that he _did not_ have!) and his desire to please (also _not_ a thing!). Sebastian argued that there was just something nice about ruining someone so put together... 

And that had led into an argument- because Sebastian sure as shit wasn't ‘ruining’ Jim so _who the fuck was he ruining_ \- no one, obviously it was just was a comment-- 

But Mycroft did _kinda_ (absolutely--- NO!) look like that type- Sebastian wondered if he was a lonely person... Jim had whined about how hard it was getting an escort or someone like that close to the man... so maybe he just didn't do that? But he'd seemed sad in the shower about the trusting thing- understandable... He'd also been very pink in the shower too- hot water and... from Mycroft's words that afternoon, embarrassment, maybe, which made no sense because it wasn't like he looked _bad_ at all- it wasn't like everyone could look like a fucking beefcake (and while he didn't really CARE about that too begin with, he did... kinda have a preference towards a... softer body shape). Softer, paler- Jim had kinda wiped all his preferences away and put himself there instead. Maybe he'd- 

Oh god, Mycroft was looking at him- which meant he was awake... 

When did he wake up??

Oh fuck- words- he'd been saying something??? Remember, Moran- what'd he say?? 

Apologies- rude to sleep, out of shape- "Don't think you're out of anything, really- just a bit under the weather, but a kidnapping does that to people so I'd be more worried if you weren't asleep, really- prolly need more rest anyway, your type always does." 

_Wrong thing to say- you're not his fucking nurse or doctor or his mom- idiot_. "I was reading-" Sebastian held up his book... he hadn't opened a page. "Was thinking, got distracted- staring into space... sorry if I spooked you?" Better. _Idiot._

\--

Mycroft woke up- and realized he had fallen asleep without intending to- to the stunningly beautiful sight of Sebastian Moran looking at him, or just past him, lost in thought. Mycroft reflexively stammered out an apology for falling asleep…

And then ended up babbling out an apology for being out of shape- mostly because he was looking at someone who could model for classic greek statuary of “the warrior” or “apollo” or something.

Sebastian in turn startled out of his thinking into babbling about Mycroft needing more rest…

One corner of his mouth twitched, and then the other and then Mycroft couldn't help the snicker, “Oh yes, the terrifying weretiger and the implacable iceman: both of us stumbling over apologies and trying to keep from aggravating the other one.”

\--

Terrifying- he could be terrifying, damnit! Just because Mycroft had seen him in a... rather... _cuddly_ state didn't mean a thing- he was... _had been- very_ much used to being used as a weapon or a threat for Jim. Nothing really says "comply or die" like a cat as large as you crunching the skull of your companion...

Sebastian grinned a wide, genuine smile and wrinkled up his nose, baring his teeth as he hissed- holding his hand up and miming scratching as he did so. "I'm an oversized house cat- and even a snowman melts come spring." 

\--

Mycroft chuckled, "I appear to have lost my magical top hat as well."

\--

"Mm, and the pipe. Cig'll have to do- bet I could whip a nice hat outta a box or something. Of course, you'll have to keep the red cheeks up, but you've done pretty at that so far so I don't expect any problems there." 

He was _not_ flirting. That was TEASING- at the worst.

_andflirtingatthebest_

\--

Mycroft had to clear his throat and - unfortunately- 'keep up the pink cheeks' at that comment. 

_Sigh._

"Well..." Mycroft glanced down at his phone and frowned, "It's... late enough that it could be time to sleep, but I just woke from a nap and... I probably should at least drink something... but if we eat heavily we will likely not sleep well- or I won't- for several hours..." He shook his head and commented to Sebastian, "While my sense of time _passing_ is quite intact, my sense of time of day appears to have taken leave without permission."

He looked around thoughtfully- _Sebastian was complaining about his people not being given agency, and he couldn't imagine Moriarty consulting him on anything but combat issues, so best to establish a respect for his autonomy now_ \- "So... ah… try to get to sleep on the early side, or have a more solid meal and stay up?" He looked back at Sebastian: "Opinion?"

\--

Mycroft apparently didn't find his comment too insulting- or at least, he refrained from saying that... and that blush was wandering down his neck in a nice little splotchy way-

Sebastian couldn't help but track it with his eyes as it vanished under the collar of his pajamas _. How far down did it go? He really was a redhead, wasn't he?_

What-?

Oh. Yes. Talking. Why was he asking him? Holmes was in charge- he had the gun, technically, and the aura... at times. 

”I... don't tend to sleep very much anyway-” Sebastian glanced away, leaning back on his hands. There was a practiced casualness to the words; as if he pulled them out to wave away any attention. ”And I can always eat; stocked the place because I thought we’d be here for a few weeks. And- no offense, Holmes, but I get the feeling you need a good sleep and a few more meals in you and an old blind woman to work the stress outta you.” He fixed his gaze back on Mycroft; a surprisingly caring and almost ’parental’ look of fondness- ”Really, think you need a vacation, but I have a feeling we’d lose the country if you left and took a week to sunbathe nude in the Maldives. And the sunscreen- Christ I bet you burn as bad as Jim.” 

His brow scrunched and he looked a bit sheepish, ducking his head. ”Sorry- off track there a bit- maybe a light meal so you can sleep easy after and...” The playfulness dropped out of his voice, replaced was a dull somberness, ”I... owe you an explanation. And you wanted the deal with the... other half of what I said before.”

\--

"Vacation- what a concept..." Mycroft remembered one once, but that was... before. He shook his head. "As to sunburn, sadly yes- horribly. Fortunately, sunscreens have come a long way since my childhood excursions to the beach."

He forced himself off the couch and held out a hand to - completely unnecessarily help Sebastian from the floor- "An explanation would, indeed be quite good," Mycroft agreed. "I rather thought the other discussion would be better off waiting until you were feeling a bit less stressed."

\--

Less stressed? Oh- Sebastian wasn't sure there were many moments when he _wasn't_ stressed... well... okay, a few- sex, enough drinks, those occasional very, very good days that Jim had, about two hours ago when he was getting the best fucking brushing of his life and a good scrubdown too... 

"Mycroft... I'd say about two hours ago was about the least stressed I've been in four or five weeks. The thing that's hanging over my head now is why _you_ haven't left. I told you: there's no other assassins or guys. No one is being threatened. This was my last job as far as I'd planned- and even then only 'cuz I was drunk on revenge and I thought I'd follow through on the only damn thing the bastard planned that was going to change the world... for the better. If this is about the network or the connections then you can have'em- got enough money in my accounts to keep me fat and lazy for the rest of my days, if I wanted. And... I'm sure we'd both agree on my inability to run things like Jim did. I suppose the only thing that's stressing me out now is the fact that I can't figure out why you haven't shot me or walked out that door." 

\--

"Very well."

Mycroft gestured and went over to the table, "I find it easier to have a proper discussion when we can both sit face to face… probably just habit from far too many meetings."

"So you feel you have more to explain to me, before I point out some other issues with your plans and understanding of situations?" Mycroft held up a hand, "I am NOT saying that you are entirely responsible: I believe you were very likely misled about a great deal, whether by accident or design."

He sat back in the chair, "I already said I would prefer not to have to shoot you; I WILL be walking out that door fairly soon because I need to meet my agent- The question is whether we can come to a resolution that we can both be satisfied with. That of course will depend on the outcome of this conversation I suspect."

He nodded at Sebastian, "After you."


	12. Things Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian sits down to fill Mycroft in... and both of them find out a lot more they missed.

Sebastian nodded and followed, taking the hand offered despite not needing it- and took the seat he'd been at before. "I... figured I owed you a good story for how things went. I know your reputation, I know what Jim thought of you- or at least what he mentioned, and despite you being..." He was _not_ going to say nicer- even if it was true on some levels, because he'd seen Jim in a hundred thousand moods... but not Mycroft, and they were... not friends, or even equals on the field. Sebastian had to remind himself of that- where his allegiances lie. "Well... different than what I expected... there's..." he ran a hand through his hair, hoping he wouldn't find the next words out of his mouth insulting- "A lot that's... similar. So I think you'd... like Jim would- probably feel better knowing the motives and the why's." 

"I don't know why he wanted to wait until after... things were done with him and- your brother. But we were going to take you someplace, like I did. I mean, I was supposed to just look scary, good at that- because Jim wanted to... do the work. Personal, I think... but you- where you are, how you work- you're clever. If you were infected and made a were, you'd _have_ to push to help weres. Or you'd have to turn yourself in, and know that you'd be a dead man. And when he-" Sebastian faltered, "Uhm, I thought I'd at least do that much. I dunno how what he was planning on doing to you-" Considering Sebastian knew that the best infection rates were in their shifted forms, and considering in the fact that birds did not produce enough saliva during a 'peck' to likely turn anyone... Sebastian hoped he'd been planning on blood transfusions and not... _the other ways._ He hoped Jim wouldn't do _that_ after... Molly. "But I- I figured if anyone was to blame, it was you. And I'd be doing weres a favor- you'd have to choose between saving your hide or dying and I know what most everyone'd choose. But you were-" 

Sebastian grimaced- rubbing his hand over his face. "You were very good at making regret the way I'd gone about it. So I thought- maybe if... if you didn't think _I_ was that bad, then maybe when... I told you about being a were, you'd- understand, maybe." 

\--

"Hmm..." Mycroft sighed and looked at the man, "Sebastian... I need you to understand something: James Moriarty can lie, seamlessly, to the point that even under the most advantageous conditions my brother or I could have difficulty reading him... and Sherlock -" he shook his head, "If Moriarty wanted to lie to you, convincingly, do you honestly think you would be able to tell?"

\--

_Hush pet... No no no- I wouldn't ever **lie** to you, Sebastian... you know that... _

Sebastian had a pained look on his face- the incident with Molly, when he said he was done with the games, the hundred thousand little peppered things said just to irk him. "He-" He wanted to say, ' _of course I'd know_ '. But the way he'd been acting... He hung his head. "No. I wouldn't have. But I knew him- he _wanted_ to turn you. He was _obsessed_ with the idea. After Sherlock, he was going for you. If he wasn't doing it for the weres, then- then why? Why would he bother- he had _everything."_ There was a low, unpleasant sensation creeping up his spine- the faintest idea that he had always feared. "Why would he want to turn _you?_ " _Why, when he already has me..._

\--

Mycroft had data clicking into place at speed, assumptions upending, and turning…

Very carefully he said, "First of all, I will not say that any idea he had 'for the good of the weres' wasn't- potentially- part of his plan, but think of it as a bonus, not the main plan..." He waited for the acknowledgment to flicker over jealous, pained eyes. "HE was going to infect me, personally- there are... several ways to do that: you didn't like the idea- you wanted to be the one to do it because you wanted to BITE me- of course, part of the reason you wanted to bite me was that you didn't like Jim's obsessions with other men, did you?"

_Jim was a were, but we shouldn't have missed that... of course, the simplest blood tests are testing for the shifter DRUGS, because no shifter could be held in interrogation without heavy medication.... and surely his blood test would have eventually come back positive? But it's not recent, not the way Sebastian speaks about it…_

Mycroft once again cursed his lack of attention to matters involving shifters.

\--

_Don't get upset._ It was hard not to- Mycroft was hitting every nail on the head... and only driving those sharp little slivers of betrayal deeper and deeper into him. He knew- of course, he was always afraid of it because where would he have been if Jim got tired of him? _Dead. Moriarty didn’t have exes._

But it still stung, even with the... 'polite' way Mycroft put it. 

"He only had two ways. Blood, or-" Sebastian paused, "-sex. And after the incident with Hooper... He wasn't… exactly wanting to let me in on things." Sebastian took a breath, "And no. I didn't like it. But I suspect spending a few years in someone's bed would make anyone a little... jealous." 

\--

"I have a rather different opinion," Mycroft tried to keep the growl out of his voice- _he's a victim and Moriarty had years to twist his views._

"Assuming that I believe that being infected wouldn't drive me insane or... assuming I believe that: my being a were would be a death sentence, as you just admitted. My options would be to kill myself, or to... run. It most CERTAINLY wouldn't make me friendly to weres. In fact, I would very likely spend what was left of my life trying to kill at LEAST everyone associated with the men who did this to me, and possibly all weres to prevent this from ever happening to anyone else."

Mycroft sat back, "And Moriarty... would know that."

\--

Sebastian shook his head. "You can hide it. Jim... was amazing. I'd never seen him have a single issue since I'd been with him. Hell, he taught me everything I know. Someone like you-" someone similar to _him,_ "-you'd have picked it up in no time- and in a place like this for a bit- well, once you were infected, you'd have understood. He said you'd understand once you shifted. Felt how good it felt. Freeing. _Melted_ a little." 

\--

"I'm certain I could have learned to control it- assuming I didn't go insane, which... actually seems likely."

Mycroft shrugged, "That isn't the point- having my entire life changed against my will? deliberately isolated, beaten, drugged -likely after being raped -and then forever ripped away from any other people I cared about, all so I would have to do what HE told me to."

Mycroft locked flat winter eyes onto the man, "Pardon, but wasn't that what you were complaining about?"

\--

"I-" Sebastian had to avert his eyes- face burning at the blunt honesty that the man spoke with. "How many people have been maimed and tortured and killed for the 'good' of Great Britain? Weres are born and made every day... They deserve to live without fear- and as... as much as I dislike the idea of- of putting someone through what I've been through... if it could make the lives of millions better..."

\--

"Ah, so enslaving weres is acceptable as long as he's doing it?"

Mycroft smiled thinly, "In actual fact, he would either be permitting me to go back to some empty shell of my life in order to gain access to my authority- or more likely he would simply enjoy being able to make me submit, force me to... his bed, perhaps, but definitely his will.... or watch me be gleefully ripped apart by my colleagues."

"In fact, I wonder if he had arranged this with one of my colleagues to take over my position- under his authority of course- once I was revealed to be a were: so many people willing to take a devil's bargain in exchange for what they see as power."

Mycroft forced the tension out of his jaw and pushed his chair back. "Besides, Sebastian: ANYONE trying to change things for the better for weres would be suspect for BEING one- I would never be able to advocate for your people if I became infected, in fact, it would mean that was the one thing I could never, ever, dare do..." he smiled and nodded at him, "How convenient for the man who is so KINDLY offering to take in, train, and use all those poor unfortunate weres..."

\--

Blow after blow- each one making the walls of his logic crack and crumble around him until he was standing in the rubble- and then Mycroft hit him again. 

_Take in_

_Train_

_**Use** _

All the things he'd done for Jim; spurred on by the occasional soft smile and the kind touch and... 

_C'mere, tiger..._

Sebastian suddenly felt very, very small- and very, very alone. "Lucky for you then. Got the one-up on me- so no chance of being infected... and you're free to leave whenever. Congratulations." 

\--

Mycroft truly didn't know whether it was kinder to leave the man in ignorance, or... not.

Very softly he asked, "Would you prefer to be more fully informed of the facts as I see them? or... not. I am truly sorry Sebastian; I tried to find gentler means to point out the fallacies in the plans..."

\--

Sebastian shook his head and tried not to grit his teeth. "No- it's..." He took a deep breath and gave a soft, if not slightly forced smile. "Rip the bandage off in one go. Not like there's anything that it'd change, really. What's done is done." 

\--

"Moriarty flirted- he always did, however in truth, I rarely saw much sign of him following through with it unless it was for a role, or to... gain something specific," he couldn't help but have a flash of fury cross his face with the knowledge that the man was carrying an incurable infection- and could have destroyed ANY of his partner's lives.

"Of course knowing now that he was a were, I have... more understanding of that. You already being infected would not be at risk, of course."

"Your... relationship with him would have been unusual. Perhaps he was genuinely fond of you; I do not know- I don't know if 'fond' was even in his psyche; possessive perhaps? Another precious shiny thing..."

\--

The flirting, yes- but he'd always been his at the end of the day... it'd only been the past year with Sherlock that had _really_ gotten to him...

A shiny thing? 

Sebastian let out a bark of laughter- a genuine smile. "Christ- you have _no idea_ how accurate that'd be- me, another bauble. Makes sense, with how much he fussed over the rest of his little pilfered collection. And he always said _I_ was a bit too in touch with my animal side... Least I wasn't one stealing buttons and pocket squares and tie pins... or stored with them, I suppose."

\--

Mycroft filed that away for later. "Before... I get to the part that concerns ME the most- I... don't know if it would concern you the most or not- I need to have a question answered: how did you get the information you needed to pick me up?"

\--

Sebastian blinked- "There's- a part that concerns you more than the whole kidnapping and mind control part? Christ, priorities... I said it earlier- your office is a sieve. Jim's had people there for years... not to mention the people that're there from _other_ baddies." He gave a name- a rather unassuming and unimportant man who had been stuck in his position for several years. "After some checking to make sure it was legit... well, I just had to figure out where you were leaving from. I was told bereavement leave- not top-secret spy mission." 

\--

Mycroft sighed, "That... is what I was afraid you would say. That man was, oh, at least a triple agent: he worked for me, for Moriarty, and for several of my colleagues… and he absolutely should not have known that information- which means one of my colleagues GAVE it to him, to give out, to get me... well, if I am lucky they were seeing if I would get killed- if unlucky they knew about you and what you might do..."

\--

Sebastian winced- "Well... I've certainly got egg on my face then, huh? There's a _reason_ I didn't do this shit before. Rather leave the mind games to you people." He gave a sheepish smile- "Would it help if I killed him? And- bonus for you, you'll get to see their mouths drop when you come back looking all healthy and alive and not hairy." 

\--

"Mmm..." Mycroft sighed, "Before I can have him disposed of I need to find out who told him, and whether they were JUST trying to get me killed, or they knew about you, and... to be blunt: if they knew about Moriarty's plan. Because if someone knew about Moriarty's plan that would... explain..."

Mycroft looked up and felt the weight of his deductions and the sheer pain of going back to-

Very tiredly he said, "You see... if one of my colleagues knew about his plan, and knew that you were left to carry it out- or try- then... "

Mycroft smiled very very bitterly, “It was all planned ahead. Sherlock, and THEN infecting me- he obsessed on it as you said... so there was no reason at all for him to kill himself... which means he didn't.”

"Either someone arranged for his fake death to be made real, or... someone kept him from carrying out his plan."


	13. Oaths and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of talking.

God- Sebastian wasn't sure what he hated more, or what _hurt_ more. The fact that Jim had been killed- not killing himself, and thus Sebastian had not only failed at his job of _protecting_ the man- from himself, at first... something he might have eventually been able to get with time... to learning that he had been killed- by _someone else._

Someone Sebastian very likely _could_ have shot or torn to shreds. (Even if he never knew, or met them- there was the guilt of _'how did I not know?'_ )

But what was probably the worst thing of all- Jim had planned to fake his death... _and didn’t tell him._

God- maybe it would have been more merciful for Mycroft to have shot him. 

"So- if I'm getting this right-" Sebastian straightened in his seat, "The man that I-" _loved_ "-dedicated my life towards protecting and serving, the man who killed your brother, convinced me to help him kidnap you and-" Sebastian gritted his jaw, "-and _train_ you to _take my place in his bed-_ was killed and manipulated the entire time- just to get _you_ out of the way." 

In the end- despite Sebastian having blamed him before... Mycroft _really was_ the one responsible. 

\--

"Possibly- far more likely that Moriarty planned it all, and... simply had the last bit go wrong- not that he was manipulated into the plan."

Mycroft muttered, "Probably Porlock- he had the resources to fake a body, and... I suspected he was unreliable."

\--

Great- so Jim had just _fucked up._ "Great- good. And I'm guessing he's ultra clearance- meaning a shit load of security protocol and probably isn't going to be going on bereavement leave anytime soon... which puts me pretty much solidly out of the game, because the odds of getting any of Jim's contacts to listen to me is slim to none. I've got people who would, of course, but..." Sebastian shook his head. "Do you wanna kill Porlock with me?"

\--

Mycroft considered how likely it was that he would simply die of grief and emotion from Sebastian being in proximity and.... decided he didn't have much choice- he'd been trying to figure out how to manage this even knowing it was impossible. He ran the odds and... insufficient data. "Would you be willing to listen to me? I had been... trying to figure out how to conceal your identity before..."

\--

Trying to conceal his identity? ”Why would you...” A prisoner? Another man with nice fashion sense and a perky rear who wanted an exotic pet/fucktoy/guard combination? 

Or maybe Holmes had been thinking about bringing him back for the program... What had he said, ’disposed of, such a waste’? Or something like that, at least... He did not know Mycroft very well- but if he was telling the truth, Jim had... had been using him, ready to throw him aside for Mycroft. And maybe he _did_ know Jim used him- what else did you call it? Love? No- Jim had never shown that level of care. Soft moments, yes, times when Sebastian thought that it was all worth it... But... _would you be able to tell if he lied to you? He’s a very good actor..._

”You were thinking about how to conceal my identity... Earlier? Why?” Not important now, Moran... curiosity killed the cat.

\--

"Because if you are... not ill-informed about the way weres are treated- in general, not speaking to violent cases- then I need to know, and... you would be the best able to assist."

Mycroft closed his eyes- he didn't want to know what the man thought really, it was probably better he didn't. "Because if Porlock is behind this, then he could have suborned my guards, or any of the people I might normally go to for assistance- or at least tapped their communications."

"And since I promised myself I would be honest with you? Perhaps because you remind me of someone I believed... existed."

\--

_If_ he was not ill-informed- because the scars, mental and physical that remained were just the products of being _disillusioned_. Because Mycroft ’needs to know’ now- only because he couldn't ignore it. 

Sebastian wanted to bristle- he was fairly certain he did, actually- he was _not_ some stray animal for smart men to come steal away and _use_. Because that's what Mycroft would be doing- using him, but... to get Porlock, to hurt him and make him feel the pain that Sebastian had felt when he’d seen his lover’s body crumple? Might be worth accepting something like that.

And he also wanted to say that, too. 

He almost did, actually- partly rising from his chair- but then... the soft, truthful tone of Mycroft’s words... 

You remind me of someone I believed existed. 

He’d believed that Jim- despite his attitude and the treatment at times, was fond of him. He had thought that he was special. He had believed that that person... existed. And maybe he had, at times. Because there were things he knew and moments that he honestly, wholeheartedly believed that Jim did not fake. Those moments in the middle of the night when one of them woke up out of breath and with wet cheeks- and the soft hours after, making hot cocoa and sitting and watching the sunrise and trying to decide if they could speak the fear aloud yet. 

Jim was a liar, a damn good one too, and he was an actor of the best. But even he didn't think Jim could have faked every one of those smiles. Used them? Yes. He could have and would have used it all.

Mycroft’s kindness only made it more obvious how wrong he was, misplaced anger and guilt and worse. Sebastian sunk back into the chair, wearily rubbing his eyes. ”I... have conditions, if I am going to be-” _owned by you_ ”working with you. I do not want to be treated like... I've seen weres treated. I- I don't _think_ you would- you haven't... been a prick or anything yet- but I want you to know that. We are equals. I’ll do my best to shut up and listen- but I want you to remember that.”

_You remind me of someone I believed existed._ The sliver of a comment was easy to push aside now- but... Well, the ’Iceman’ saying something that sounded... very damn near a confession of a past relationship? C’mon... After so long hearing about how boring and lonely and closed off the man was from Jim- he had to admit his curiosity. Would he ask? No. Would he likely ever get up the courage to ask? _No_. They were not friends- and Sebastian would never bet on the odds of them ever being close on that level. Professional. This was a job now.

\--

“I have been trying to… involve you in all the decisions.” Mycroft looked at him- he looked distraught and… like he just found out his lover had been lying to him.

“In order to manage this well… I will… need to permit you to know a number of things that…” 

Mycroft cursed his damn nerves and sat up straighter. “There are things I care about far more than my own life, and you would have access to some of them: I would be… trusting you with matters LITERALLY more precious than my own existence- with the resulting… issues if I ever found that you had betrayed that trust.”

"In exchange, you will have free access to come and go- within normal security limits for any non-were- I will consult with you on any matters concerning you or our mutual goals- as I have been- and you will be directly involved in working out your own security arrangements. I would think, especially with you holding that level of threat over me, that this would be sufficient?”

\--

Oh- yes, of course... Mycroft was the type to be selfless and hold his work above himself... A damn shame- because sometimes everyone needed to be a bit selfish to be happy. ”Mycroft- I’ll be honest with you. You were my enemy, my rival, because of Jim. You cannot take my place because there’s no place to take anymore. And this-” Sebastian waved a hand, gesturing around them, ”Was revenge. I picked you because things went to hell after your little stunt with Jim- he might have been a bit unhinged before, but he didn't start pushing me out fully until your lot picked him and tortured him.” 

The memories of how he’d acted after- tired and aching muscles and just wanting to shift and nest (not even with him). The uptick in nightmares and paranoia. The fights they had- all stemming from that moment. “Jim made it very clear what your involvement was, and how anything that happened to him was approved by you. I blamed you for that. I still do. But if you're right- then this Porlock guy is the real bad guy, and you were just...” Sebastian’s brow furrowed, a tired expression on his face. “You were just being selfish for once and trying to protect your brother. It wouldn't have been... a nice ‘victory’ if Jim had faked his death- _” Because he never fucking told me._ Sebastian jaw clenched, ”But- he died because of this Porlock guy- not because of what you did to him. And unless we find out otherwise, I’ll accept that. I just- I want closure. I'd like this to all end, so I can...'' _figure out what to do next._ Sebastian shook his head- “If it reassures you- just for this and ’cuz I'm a sucker for a pretty face- I’ll consider us square. We’re even. And I don't tend to just... hurt people because I can. So whatever you're protecting- your cat or a goldfish or your mum or something- it's fine.” 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow- “Also- I don't know how you expected this to go, but... I don't know about this Porlock character. Jim prolly whined about him and I prolly ignored it because he whined about everything. But you're the one who's got the connections- Jim... didn't _exactly_ leave a will and that's caused some succession issues that I’m trying to deal with, so... there’s not a chance in hell that I’ll be coming and going. They wanted you dead or infected- and God knows how they’d react to seeing you, so I’ll be sticking to you like white on rice. Like you said- anyone could be a leak, ’cept for me, and I have experience keeping a very, very smart idiot from getting hurt.” His track sheet technically ended in failure, but...

\--

Mycroft just looked tired and pained- _even now the poor man didn't understand, but how could he?_

"First of all, Sebastian... if you can accept that James lied- frequently and believably- about other things, WHY do you think he was entirely accurate and truthful in telling you about... my involvement in anything?"

Mycroft got up slowly, and went for the cabinet he had seen the alcohol in... _old aches and pains and remembered..._ he staggered and almost fell.

\--

Sebastian blinked- almost comically- and then Mycroft was stumbling as he passed him headed for the (rather too well-stocked) liquor cabinet, and Sebastian shot out a hand, pushing himself off of the table so he could hold Mycroft by his forearm, steadying him. “Sit down.” Not _exactly_ a request, not with that thin line of steel underneath it demanding he be listened to- and Sebastian moved from his chair, pushing Mycroft to sit in it while he stood above him. ”Tell me what you want to drink,” O _bviously far too used to fetching things_ , ”And I’ll say this- Jim was an amazing actor. He- he managed to convince _me_ that he had a twin- for most of a day. But... I’ve been in situations like that- and I know how it feels after. And there’s things I don't think even Jim could fake. Or in that case- things he needed to fake. You were kind to me,” he pointed out, ”But I was only a threat to you. I’ve no doubt you’d be able to do horrible things if it meant saving someone you valued more than yourself.”

\--

"As to drink? If you have a good scotch, that; otherwise I would prefer almost any other alcohol to a poor scotch." Mycroft sighed, "I didn't say I did not do anything- merely that I don't know what he told you HAPPENED, or how much I was supposedly involved in. He was interrogated- tortured under most international laws, yes- and since I have rather ferocious traumatic flashbacks I cannot supervise ANY of it directly- even if I authorize it." Mycroft scrubbed his face with both hands, "He spent most of the time I dealt with him taunting me- or asking me- about Sherlock; alternating with taunting me about my sex life... offering to do various rather explicit things..." 

Mycroft muttered into his hands, "As if I would ever trust him that far."

\--

Sebastian pulled down a bottle, “This considered good enough? I raided the stash before I moved out- only reason it’s all still around is because I can't exactly get sloshed if people are up my arse day and night.” 

Sebastian paused- because that was a fucking mental image for sure- Jim absolutely wrecking Mycroft (bet those freckles’d stand out real pretty)- Of course, Sebastian not being allowed to touch himself or even help beyond what Jim told him to do... Maybe a turn to ruin the redhead if _the tiger was very very good..._

Christ. Do _not_ think of that. 

(Even if Jim occasionally did bring his latest toy over- but they always had been made to leave he got to stay so... that was forgivable.)

_Except when Jim made him--_ He quickly bit that thought in half, severing it.

”He was... Not exactly as cocky once home. It was a lot of...” Sebastian winced, letting out a sigh- ”Nothing that might leave anything visible except a few scars. He stayed in bed when I told him to- he _never_ did that. And I helped with... a chunk of his PT after. Massages, simple exercises. But he didn't... exactly go back to how he was before.”

\--

"Yes, well... he deliberately sent me taunts about a terror attack on London to get himself picked up, and then continued his threats to my brother... frankly, I would have killed him if I could have." The scotch was... good enough, he supposed. "Given that half the purpose of picking him up was to try to convince him to leave John Watson- and by extension my brother- alone? 'Not as cocky' would have been expected- desirable, perhaps." 

Mycroft put down a quarter glass of scotch in steady swallows before muttering "Of course I don't know anyone who is as arrogant as they were before they found out just how badly you can be hurt- including myself."

Perhaps Sebastian said something but he was a bit too deep in memories and pain to hear him. Eventually, he realized he had... a blanket _?_ wrapped around his shoulders.

Before Sebastian could continue- or perhaps begin, he wasn't certain- Mycroft commented: "You do realize that it was when I thought you were threatening... people I care about, not me... that I was willing to attempt to take on an obviously top-level hand to hand combatant? I may not have realized you were a were at the time, but honestly, it wouldn't have stopped me."

Mycroft sat up and fixed the man with a steady stare- his lip might have curled back, he didn't know: "I want your sworn word, Sebastian, that even if James Moriarty himself were to return from the dead and demand your allegiance, that not ONE bit of the personal information and trust I am extending you will be used against me or my charges. The ONLY loophole I will permit in this would be if I betrayed YOUR trust."

“Your word."

\--

Mycroft fizzled again (god the man needed some therapy, a massage, and a week in the Maldives)- some noises and that haunted look in his eyes and Sebastian paused to grab a throw from the closet to wrap around him, and that seemed to work a bit. 

And then he refilled his glass- and made sure his own was topped up. 

And then he drank it far too quickly while Mycroft was giving him conditions and Sebastian didn't even know what to say. Because as sick and twisted and horrible as it was- the idea would be like a dream come true. He could see it, too- Jim would stroll in, a bemused look on his face like he knew a joke and no one else did and he'd look Sebastian dead in the eyes and say something a little mean. And the thing was- he wouldn't _demand_ Sebastian's allegiance at all. He'd _assume he still had it_ , that Sebastian hadn't had his world ripped apart, hadn't sunken as low as he had. He'd walk in, eyes lazily roaming over them both, snap his fingers and _Sebastian did not know if he would heel._

He wondered if the silence and how long he took to answer was an answer of its own, and he carefully set his glass aside. "Mycroft... the things you've told me- if I believed them to be true-" and he did, sadly. Even if he hoped they were not. "And from what you've seen of Jim, I'm sure you think I was a fool for believing that I was special, that we were..." He shook his head. "And you'd be right. I was a fool. _Am_ a fool- because as much as I'm sure you're right, as much as I'd like to believe that you're not as clever a liar as him. I could look you in the eye and tell you that if- by some ungodly chance- he faked his death and waltzed through that door and told me to kneel that I wouldn't. But the truth is... I don't know. I don't know what I'd do. But I do know this- I'm not a good man, but that doesn't mean I'm a bad one. I give my word and I keep it. And if I don't think I can- then I don't give my word. He could walk in and even if I went with him, I wouldn't tell. You're not a bad person- despite what everyone seems to think- and I would not betray your trust if you chose to give it to me." 

Sebastian took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. "Mycroft Holmes, I give you my word- I would not use anything I know of you, or your charges, against you."

\--

"If I didn't believe you would keep your word; I wouldn't bother with asking for it." Mycroft was just so damnably TIRED of it all. "I actually think you were special to him, Sebastian, but... I simply do not think you were TO HIM anything close to what he has been to YOU: To be honest, I am not certain if the man is capable of it, but that could be bias. I needed your word because without... without an express statement of where the line IS, it's all too easy to cross it."

Mycroft swallowed a good bit more of the scotch, "God knows I did- far too many times."

He sighed, "I am fairly certain the INTENT was for Moriarty to fake his death- I think that's clear since he had plans for me?" He caught the puzzled nod from Sebastian and went on, "So he would have gotten a fake body from Porlock- Porlock being Sir Edwyn, the head of MI6 and well used to dirty tricks and faking a body. The question I have, right now, is this: did Porlock arrange for his fake death to go wrong, did Porlock kill him after the fact, or did Porlock CAPTURE him."

Mycroft sat back and looked up into eyes growing wider by the moment.

"Which leads to the question of whether James Moriarty is STILL alive, or not."


	14. Silver Tongues Tarnish Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Moriarty might be alive, and certainly that is reason enough for an alliance... it's not for any other reasons... really...

Sebastian had thought of that- in the beginning. Faking his death seemed like a damned good trick to play and Jim was always one for theatrics. And it would be a good way to punish him for the fight they'd had before. So he'd thought that maybe Jim wanted to hurt him- and it did hurt, but he waited. And waited. And waited- and there was no Jim. 

And now- if Mycroft was _bringing it up_ then it meant that Mycroft didn't disregard that as a possibility- that Jim _had_ arranged to fake his death (because that was just _such_ a Jim thing) but had things go wrong. Captured- or killed. 

But the chance at it being _captured._

And Mycroft was telling him about it- even after admitting he would have gladly killed Jim if he could. Giving up that potential opportunity to tell him... Sebastian wasn't sure if that was an olive branch (tree, really) or just Mycroft trying to show that he was going to give as much as Sebastian did. 

Sebastian gripped the edge of the countertop, leaning back against it. "He had his mental files- but something like this... he'd have worked on it on paper. I told you- chicken scratch and shorthand and he's got a whole office of things... I was only really looking for the plans involving you. If he wanted to hide it from me, he just had to bury it with things I didn't care about. He'd- he'd always made jokes about me being jealous. We had a spat over Hooper and he knew that I didn't want him to go after Sherlock. And if he brought you up enough- then he knew I'd be focused on trying to keep you from taking my place. I'd try to figure out his plan and- and do something about it. So he could plot whatever he wanted- as long as he kept something on the surface about you for me to grab. If you want to know exactly what he was planning- if there's anything not in his head, it'd be at home." 

\--

Mycroft nodded slowly. "Understand that, in my opinion, whatever his plan WAS has obviously gone very badly wrong. However, yes, knowing what his plan was- the details and his safety protocols- would be helpful in finding out... well, if it was Porlock, if anyone else could have known where he would be- how to intercept him..."

Mycroft closed his eyes against the lights. 

"There are so many people that would take the opportunity to kill him, if they knew where to intercept him without... well without you." He cracked an eye open, "And that's on HIM, not on you- if he was arranging to meet with someone he likely didn't want to let them see you, and as you said he… was punishing you, putting you back in your place."

Mycroft pulled out his phone and sent the emergency text he hadn't wanted to send and now needed to. He looked up to find a very agitated Sebastian pacing and muttering and... a bit fuzzy?

"Go ahead and shift if you want, " Mycroft was hoping that Sherlock got the text quickly- that everything was still alright.

"If it was Porlock who got hold of him- or really almost any of our clearance level- there is actually far more chance that he is alive: it's a SLIM chance I admit, but it exists. James Moriarty was brilliant, and I don't believe anyone else could resist the temptation to...." he hesitated and changed his terms, "try to make use of him."

He waved at the lights hopefully and fumbled for his pills, "The downside, of course, is that... in interrogation, I refused to authorize anything that risked his life, or permanent damage: I have no idea if anyone else would be so restrained."

\--

Mycroft was looking at him a little weird- and then made a comment about him shifting- and Sebastian raised a hand to his face and... Oh christ, he was getting a bit... peach-fuzzy. "Can't talk," he frowned, rubbing at his jaw. His teeth felt a bit... weird in his mouth- and he had that antsy feeling like he'd had just a bit too much caffeine, or something stronger. Pacing helped, for sure- though there was something extra satisfying about having his tail flicking behind him, he would manage as he was. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a tiny bit of Jim's brain- something to help him figure out where to start. "If someone had him- it'd be the drugs that would be the problem. You said it yourself- great actor. Amazing self-control, but if he was drugged and confused, or scared- and not able to fully think, he'd shift. There's only so much you can do to a were that's shifted- _especially_ a bird like him- there's no way they'd be expecting it. You didn't know- how would they? Restraints are hard- we didn't have anything for him because there wasn't a point." And because Jim didn't seem to find it as fun as tying down a tiger...

"And the drugs- he's got... reactions to them. Some'll be like an allergic reaction, others... get... weirdly..." Sebastian's nose twitched- "uncomfortable. Depending on what they use- because unlike you, they'll probably want to use the full arsenal, they might end up with a _very_ feral magpie... If they're lucky." A bad experience with a Brazilian gun-running ring a few years ago made it very, very clear to Sebastian which he would rather deal with. At least a bird was appropriately afraid of a tiger. The merman prince with the goal to find his true love and assassinate the king? No- _very_ not afraid of a tiger. 

"So if we're lucky- then they've drugged him first. He'd be useless. Might mean their plans were slowed down." Fur was rubbing against the back of his shirt and Sebastian frowned. "Fuck it-" he growled, tugging the shirt over the back of his head. And then working on the buttons and zip of his pants- "Your top-secret mission- your group didn't know about it, so it's personal. Or you already suspected something and tried to hide it. Jim's failsafes- like you asked me, about the assassins? Or taking down his network- I've already had a few idiots try to take power for themselves. Also- you need more injectors because I have a feeling things are only going to get worse."

\--

"Taking down his network," Mycroft sighed, "And... safeguarding the targets... I thought- I was afraid you knew, and I was being taken out of the way so I wouldn't be able to help and I panicked. I just sent an emergency text to my agent, and hopefully, they will actually bother to read it, then actually DO what I told them to, and then contact me for further instructions." He muttered into the scotch glass, "I can hope... oh bother, no, none of that will happen- why do I delude myself."

He finished the last drops of the scotch, looked longingly at the bottle, and very deliberately put the glass in the sink to wash.

"Yes I am aware of his peculiar responses to drugs: we ran a test on one, mostly in case of allergies, and the man became insanely hyper- offered to duel me for Sherlock- and then nearly scratched his skin open: I decided it wasn't worth the risk." Mycroft considered his limited experiences with birds, "Honestly he has the best chance of escape of any were- very few people are prepared for a bird."

Mycroft carefully reset some security on his phone and placed a voice call. "Anthea? I've had to interrupt my leave for a bit of business, could you handle a few things for me so I can cease fretting about it?"

His PA's voice replied with the appropriate countersigns indicating she was alone and on a properly secure line- he didn't think she answered any insecure lines, but protocol. "I need to have some identification for an agent- supposedly a new guard, and he needs to be able to stay with me: the usual SAS background and so on. I also need you to find out if Moriarty erased him from the files: Sebastian Moran, SAS Colonel, died some years ago."

He could HEAR the woman's curiosity, but she merely said: "I look forward to meeting the man. Do you have a photo for his Identification?"

"I'll send you one tomorrow- first I need to find out if his military files are still even in existence or we are building from scratch."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"Move Porlock to status T5.” Mycroft had been dealing with the woman for too long- he couldn't actually hear her raise an eyebrow, could he?

"Certainly, Sir."

"I will need a GREAT deal more migraine medication..."

"I did tell you that."

"You were correct, and... if I send you some construction plans can you arrange suitably secure people? I need to make modifications to my house." He paused, "Quickly- so a bonus for anyone who can do a sound construction job at speed."

"Finally putting in that shark pit, sir?"

Mycroft muttered, "Very nearly." and they countersigned off.

\--

Sebastian regretted shifting when he realized he couldn't _exactly_ get at the bottle of scotch anymore… _fucking paws_ but then Mycroft made a very, _very_ good point. If Jim _did_ escape- then they just had to wait until the drugs went through his system... and then until he gained control, and then until he _found_ them. 

And that was _if Jim wanted to find them._ Or even _could._

Sebastian paced- tail flicking agitatedly as he made loops through the kitchen, occasionally winding by Mycroft's chair and rubbing against his legs like an oversized house cat. Jim could be alive. That alone was a revelation that completely tipped his world on end, because... 

Because Mycroft made it very obvious that Jim, at least in his eyes... was not a very good... whatever they were. And Sebastian didn't _know_ whatever they were- not that he _needed_ a name but it was and had been rather brutally and painfully pointed out that Jim... almost certainly did not have the same... fondness for him that he had. 

But maybe- maybe Jim _did._

And Mycroft- he was obviously a good liar- he _had_ to be. 

And that led him down a rabbit hole where he tried to remember every _good_ time that they had. It wasn't like there weren't any- rather, Sebastian could remember plenty of times where he was happy and content, times when he felt so damn _good_ that he might burst. But then there were other things- _Jim was such a good actor, Are you sure he would never lie to you?_ and Sebastian could name a dozen things off the bat that Jim had decided 'wasn't important for him to know'. And he _liked_ being with Jim- of course he did, or he wouldn't have stayed- but there was a lot he _didn't_ like too. And the more he thought of things, the more things came up and revealed themselves. Jim's attitude when he wasn't in the mood, the aggression over little things (how many times had he cleaned up a glass or a vase or dodged a book or something else within reach?), the way he'd grab him or grind his fingers into a bruise and mention how _pretty_ he looked and maybe he needed more, Jim's earnest insistence that he _needed_ to play 'Jim from IT'- and he _had_ to date Hooper to do it, of course. The way he'd... _actually lied_ on that one- saying _of course_ he wasn't going to fuck her. And then he'd come home and had _smelled_ like sweat and perfume and had a flash of lipstick low on him and-- 

Sebastian made an irritated noise and wondered, not for the first time, if he'd be able to hold the bottle in his teeth. _Experience said no._

Mycroft's call went on- and Sebastian made a huff because if he was posing as a guard, he'd need to cut his hair back. Jim liked it short- just a bit of length to grab at the top and tug him with. Sebastian liked it a bit longer than regulation length. He had not cut his hair since Jim had died. 

A very tiny little sliver instead of him wondered if maybe...

while he had missed and mourned Jim- of course he had, he'd lived with him for _years_ and the man had saved his life-

if maybe it might be better if Jim…

_didn't come back_

That little whisper of a thought shocked the hell out of him- enough so that Sebastian did something he hadn't done in... ages. He lost control over his shift and was suddenly very very confused for a moment- and very very naked- with his head against Mycroft's thigh. That bit was nice, at least. 

_Christ._

What was he thinking? 

He owed the man everything- leaving him there, if he was alive? He couldn't do that.

Sebastian stood and snagged the scotch and put the bottle up, grabbing a whiskey that he should feel _far_ more guilty over treating like he was going to- and poured far more than two or even three fingers in before returning the bottle. He took a drink- nose wrinkling (he would almost _swear_ his taste was more sensitive after a shift), "I need a haircut if I'm going to be a guard- and so I can get a picture taken because I don't have anything that isn't already on an ID- and that looks like me." He turned- holding his drink, "How good are you at cutting hair?" 

\--

Mycroft turned to answer and found himself staring at an entire nude Sebastian. He found himself just... not thinking for a moment- which was both rather pleasant and very unnerving- and then he felt the heat racing up his body and cursed drinking QUITE so much scotch as he blurted out: "You really should pose for a sculpture."

\--

Sebastian blinked and opened his mouth- and then closed it again. 

_How far down did that blush go?_

Even quieter- _Wonder if he'd let me find out?_

And then- inside of his brain, while the rest of the tiny logical Sebs rushed about trying to figure how the _hell_ to reply to that, the stupid, horny, far-too-ignored Seb reached the controls for his mouth first and- "Depends- you gonna be putting it in the garden or would it be for your eyes only?" 

And then _he_ felt the heat racing to his cheeks and he set the glass down and grabbed for his clothes- tugging his shirt on. "Sorry- used to shifting a lot and end up forgetting that it's not exactly something everyone wants to see really." Silver-tongued, he'd been described. Obviously in need of a good polishing. 

\--

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Well, yes... I suppose a few lesbians might not want to see that." He spun and busied himself with motions that might POSSIBLY have had to do with tea.

"And... ah... my city garden is fenced- and has a privacy shade cloth, so... either."

\--

"Oh-" Sebastian was hurriedly putting on his underwear- then his pants, one foot in the air as he paused. 

Either.

_Either._

_**EITHER???** _

"Of course..." he said slowly- feeling like he might be very, very easily about to do something stupid- No, scratch that, he _was_ doing something stupid. Very stupid. 

God he was an idiot. 

"I mean... you'd have to be careful not to put me and my marble counterpart in the same place- but it would be your home, of course- but I think I'd fair a bit worse in the garden than him."

\--

"I... rather thought tigers liked water, but ah, yes, I spend far more of my time indoors." _And I want you where I can see you- touch you… Stop that Mycroft, that is a literally unsafe and unreasonable thought! Isn’t it?_

\--

Jim would kill him if he could see him acting like this- blatantly hitting on someone. Not just anyone either- the _Iceman._ "Oh, I do," Sebastian replied, stepping forward to lean against the table, "Love a good swim, really. But if we're talking longterm outdoor exposure- wind and rain and sun and all that, I'd assume that my marble twin might end up lasting longer outside. And of course- copies are rarely ever as good as the real thing. Man like you, fine taste, 'course the best would need to stay close by for your... personal viewing pleasure." 

This close- he could _really_ see the heat on Mycroft's face, those eyes very carefully avoiding looking at him. He looked-

_You should see him flustered, tiger... He does that thing you enjoy._

_...Thing? What- oh. Blushing._

_Mm... he's good at it- a pretty picture. Pinched lips, bit of pink. Adooorable. He looks so... **uncomfortable.**_

Sebastian froze.

Was- _christ_ \- was he making Mycroft uncomfortable? Jim was so fucking different- and the way he talked about it, bragging about how flustered and annoyed big brother Holmes was... 

And Mycroft's comments too- _taunts about my sex life, offering to do explicit things..._ God- Sebastian was wanting to do explicit things to the man too. 

_As if I would trust him that far_

Did Mycroft trust him? 

And- he'd acted a bit like this before, when he'd shifted the first time, surprised at his nudity, but not... disgusted, really- 

_of course not- he practically said you'd been abused- couldn't exactly make you feel bad about yourself, could he?_

He said I should pose for a sculpture... he obviously didn't mind-

_And the last man who didn't mind your scars added to them._

That sent a cold, angry lump straight to his gut- a sobering reminder that even _Jim_ had acted sweet and kind and caring at first... and had for as long as it took for Sebastian to get comfortable with him. 

Mycroft had been fairly nice so far- a few reminders of what he was capable of, but that hadn't... been bad. He hadn't tried to hurt him, and as far as he could tell he hadn't lied- yet. 

But he didn't know Mycroft and Mycroft didn't know him- and really, what had he been expecting? Some scotch and whiskey and a bit of lowered inhibitions- sex? And then what, later? At the best he could see maybe a casual hookup while they dealt with this... and then, after Porlock was taken care of (revenge completed) and Jim was rescued (if he was alive)- then what? 

Then what? 

Sebastian pulled back a bit- "But I mean, sometimes quantity _is_ better than quality. We'll get you two- one for inside, and one for your garden. Hell, could get you a small marble army. Of course, if I was nude when posing then you'd prolly get a reputation- maybe 'nude marble man'- though it doesn't have as good a ring to it, really." 

\--

Mycroft could hear the sudden hesitation and retreat in the voice, even if he couldn't see Sebastian's expressions. He was a bit relieved, and a bit disappointed, but he returned to the earlier comments about photo identification immediately. "You asked about a haircut, if I recall? The answer to that is...perhaps. I used to have to cut Sherlock's hair and studied the topic...and I believe I could do so- although… is it needed?"

He cautiously turned and looked at the fellow's hair -eyes, lips, nose, smile and pain lines, grief and doubt and- he looked away, certain that he was still flushed.

"My personal guard, especially if you are functioning as something of an aide de camp needn't follow military regulations at all." Mycroft put his business face on, looked him over again, and nodded slowly, "You should get a proper stylist to properly shape your hair, but leave it at a civilian length... I could have Anthea find you a stylist?"

Mycroft hesitated and then said somewhat apologetically, "Also to accompany me in most circumstances you will need more suits, in addition to your casual wear."

\--

An immediate change of discussion- yes, very clearly not wanting to get into that 'discussion' any further. Mycroft turned to him and had a strange expression on his face; a bit flushed, a bit... what, disappointed, maybe? No- he couldn't tell. 

He might find out quickly what the expression was if he was bold and very, very stupid and reached a hand up- cupped his head, curled his fingers in his hair, leaned in and closed the far-too-small-to-be-friendly gap between them and... 

His eyes lingered for a moment on the man's lips- on the thin side, but not undesirable, a bit of pink where he'd been gnawing earlier. He licked his own lips, forcing his eyes back up to meet the cool grey/blue of Holmes'. 

_Don't think about things like that. He's **helping** you- and he hasn't killed you. You should be focusing on finding Jim- dead or alive, not thinking about feeling the texture of those scars or tracing constellations on his skin with your tongue._

"Maybe- depends on what your standards are. Wouldn't be the first to insist his security team match his standards. If you've got them all groomed one way, then I'd best match or I'll stand out like a sore thumb. Though, honestly- if they figure out I'm not _exactly_ a guard then we can just fallback to 'devilishly attractive escort kept close'." Sebastian shrugged, bringing a hand up to tug lightly at a longer strand of hair. "But there does come a point when I stop looking 'rugged' and start looking 'shaggy', but I've never had the eyes to tell that. As for the suits," he let out a sigh- "I've got plenty." Because Jim liked him in something sharp, and Sebastian liked making Jim happy- and fine, yes, he didn't really mind it that much. They were nicely tailored (done by someone who knew how to hide and manage weaponry under a jacket) and he _did_ look good, but... he just wasn't a fan of a tie around his neck. "You can inspect and see if they're up to par, they're at his place." 

\--

Mycroft was not used to feeling like an idiot, but it seemed chronic recently. “Ah, of course… My apologies, I… I really should find out how much you were SEEN with James Moriarty, I am afraid I had pictured you being extremely hidden- except perhaps as a tiger. It was… foolish of me to assume he didn't have you taken to a tailor already.” Mycroft muttered, “I should have known better; the man was a peacock.”

Mycroft was about to say something else when his phone rang- voice and… he checked, yes that was one of Sherlock’s possible phones.

“My agent,” he said apologetically to Sebastian, and answered the phone. “I TOLD you to get settled in a better location before calling me.” He meant it to sound firm, but instead, he was fairly certain he just sounded worried.

Sherlock- in his actually unconcerned voice, not his ‘pretending to be unconcerned’ voice, commented, “And I needed to know what the difficulty was, so I would know how I needed to leave and where to go.”

Mycroft sighed- it was… somewhat reasonable. “Porlock has been moved to T5, while I do not believe he knows where you are, the location could be compromised.”

“Hmm… what happened?” _And he STILL sounded unconcerned, because of COURSE he didn't care about what this was doing to my nerves._

“Information on my ‘bereavement leave’ was given to one of the double…” Mycroft rubbed his nose, “Quadruple, probably… agents and made it directly to one of Moriarty’s senior staff.”

A much sharper tone- worry- “Are you alright?”

Mycroft smiled softly, “Yes, yes I’m quite alright, other than running through my migraine medication at an appalling rate. However, some of the problems with the network and threats to… threats to people may be able to be handled directly, and I need you to get to a better safe house, and STAY there until I can be certain of what I am dealing with.”

“It would make more sense for me to be extremely active- drawing attention while you-”

Mycroft cut him off, “No, you are the only true threat that can be levied against me right now, and I need you to be safe while I deal with this- the plus side is I will have access to some of Moriarty’s papers and can verify that there are no further threats to your friends.”

As soon as the reply to Sherlock was out of his mouth he winced and looked up to see if Sebastian had been paying attention…

He had.


	15. It will be a party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "An old philosophy professor of mine said we should all be grateful we don't get what we deserve," Mycroft muttered into the man's shoulder.

Sebastian had been about to tell him, actually, how much he'd been seen _(and agree, the man was a peacock)_ \- but then his phone rang and...

And that was an interesting tone. 

_Someone I once believed existed._

That was not the work tone he'd used for... the other call. This was softer- a bit more urgent, a bit more worried, a bit more annoyed. And he wasn't some genius master people-reader like Mycroft or Jim or Sherlock, but he could fucking read the picture book Mycroft was giving off. Soft smiles, a bit curled in- and then...

There was a very long moment where Sebastian was glad he wasn't prone to migraines. He groaned- long and low and covered his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes and battling between several rather intense emotions. 

Anger- did Jim know? Would he have done all this if he knew? _Of course he would._

Despair- quickly passing, because he'd been so certain that Jim was dead and _at least_ he was reassured by the fact that the man had gotten his damn plan done. But then there was the chance he was alive- and his blame had never really _stuck_ to Sherlock. There was only so much anger you could take out on a dead man.

He wasn't really sure which one won out. "Mycroft," he mumbled, "tell me you've got a hidden boyfriend or girlfriend or a fucking _dog_ you're just really attached to." He knew- of course he fucking knew- that the man wasn't talking to a boyfriend (yay!) or girlfriend (yay!). His hands dropped, "I swear to god, if they were both planning to fucking out-suicide each other, I'm going to _strangle_ him." 

He shot Mycroft a look- "Not yours- that's your fucking problem. You can strangle yours, I'll strangle mine- it'll be a _fucking party."_

\--

Mycroft slowly put the phone down on the table. 

"Ah." Not knowing what else to say he said it again: "Ah..."

He heard Sherlock's voice- annoyed- coming from the phone and reluctantly put it on speaker.

"-claim to be the SMARTER one, really?!" Sherlock snorted, loudly, "One of Moriarty's senior staff? And he's within range of this call because you didn't expect me to call back immediately..." A sudden suspicious tone, "WHY is he threatening to strangle a man I SAW shoot himself in the head?"

\--

Mycroft looked a bit goldfish-ish; mouth going O--O-- and then there was _exactly who Sebastian had prayed it wasn't_ on the phone, berating Mycroft. 

Sebastian couldn't help but snort and roll his eyes, shooting a glare at the phone as if Sherlock _might_ be able to see it. "Oh- we're _all_ fucking idiots to think a man _that_ self-obsessed and egotistical would brain himself." 

Sherlock made a noise- he sounded a bit offended, or maybe he was being strangled. No- Mycroft was still standing here in the kitchen with him.

"And your brother's fine by the way- I'm sure you were very worried. I kidnapped him, then he kidnapped me. It's a mutual kidnapping." 

\--

Mycroft sagged into the chair and put a hand over his eyes, "Technically true I suppose, although I didn't really kidnap you- I took you hostage: kidnapping implies moving you further than across the house..."

Sherlock almost growled, "I SAW him shoot himself!"

Mycroft interjected before a debate could start up, "If, as I deduce, he was working with Porlock- or one of the other of my level- to fake his death then he might have been fooled into a deadly mistake- unlikely- or"

"He might have had ACTUAL help from people who are used to dirty tricks and special effects" Sherlock's voice was going coldly furious "... and I could have been dosed with something like the Baskerville drug."

\--

"Well, yeah, but I was making you sound so much cooler." Sebastian shrugged and shook his head. "Nothing I knew about. Like I said, he tended to work on a lot of problems on paper- he tended to hoard that stuff in his home office... The only thing I can tell you for certain is the bits I got let in on- and we already went over the fact that he's... a very good liar." He glanced at the phone- "I was planning on taking Mycroft to our place to look at his scribbles so we could figure out what his plans were- then a rescue mission, maybe. I'm sure Sherlock here might have problems with you walking off with me, so... would you like to come with?" 

Sebastian gestured at the phone- "I'm assuming you were going to be starting on the snipers- Mycroft and I already cleared my reasons for not needing to bother, but if you're still worried, we can pull the info on the other two. If it was out of network jobs, then they're likely not on the job anymore. Paid for showing up and shooting if they had to- they did that bit. Retainer work for god knows how long- assuming Jim had any idea of Sherlock faking it-" Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture, "Is expensive, and really not something you could get outside of the network. It'd be a full-time job making sure you weren't sniffing around if he knew you were alive, so he'd have to go with someone inside. I'm about 99% sure they'd be on other work, but we can check'em for you." An olive branch- because he had a feeling Sherlock would... not taking very kindly to the idea of _rescuing_ his enemy. Especially not if he thought his friends were still in danger. 

\--

Sherlock was firing questions into the phone when Mycroft managed to cut through enough to be listened to.

“Not now, Sherlock! You MAY have Moriarty’s people after you, but if- as I suspect- Porlock is an active threat to me? He would suspect you are alive, in which case HE is an active threat to you. Can you get back to London without being seen? Bearing in mind you are hiding from Porlock, not just any agent of Moriarty’s we haven't managed to call off yet.”

A grudging, “Yes, but obviously it will take longer- evading THAT potential scrutiny… I… have my ways of doing so.”

Mycroft asked Sebastian for the address, and once both he and Sherlock finished swearing- _I should have been able to find THAT_ \- Mycroft added, “If you cannot get there, contact Anthea, of course.”

“Naturally,” Sherlock snorted, “Your personal gun always knows where you are- she keeps more of your schedule than you do!”

Mycroft resolved not to rise to the bait and simply replied, “I will work on making certain your… friends… are safe- from Moriarty at least: making certain they are safe from anyone else depends on you not being caught.”

“Fine.” Sherlock snapped, and then, “And don’t think I didn't hear ‘rescue mission’ thrown in there: I expect a REAL briefing when I get back to London!” And he hung up.

Mycroft muttered, “And that… is why Anthea said I should have taken more migraine meds- when am I going to learn to listen to her?”

\--

There were a lot of questions- about seven of them just vague threats of bodily harm against him, which, weirdly enough was very reassuring and actually rather reminded him of Jim. His address got a look from Mycroft and upset noises from them both... which, he expected- when you find out the man who was playing elaborate mind games with your brother was kipped out within (relatively) walking distance... 

Sebastian grinned- he couldn't help it. "I had to start carrying around or keeping Jim's migraine stuff nearby- so don't feel too bad. Apparently, I just tend to have that effect on people. Used to say I was obviously an agent sent to make his brain kill'im." His smile softened a tad, "I see why you've gotta watch out in your work- you're obviously soft on him. S'cute." 

\--

"Soft on him..." Mycroft sighed, "An understatement- Mummy and da are... Mummy is a brilliant mathematician but even worse at people than I am, and Da is off in his own world quite a bit and...honestly, I don't think he ever knew what to do with children who clearly took after the Vernet side of the family in intellect." He shrugged, "I more or less raised myself, and then Sherlock... he was already rebelling against my 'telling him what to do' and then... well then the drugs..."

Mycroft found much to his horror that his eyes were blurring and he got up to make tea. "Moriarty threatening him- his friend... Sherlock and I have not been close since... well since he was a teen and... I dragged him off to rehab, but... for the first time since he was a child he asked for my HELP..."

\--

"Mycroft..." Sebastian's voice was low and he stood from the table, coming to stand beside him. There was a rather sad tone to his voice and Sebastian couldn't help but feel a bit responsible- even if it all had been Jim's plans, he _had_ helped and hadn't exactly stopped the man. "I know I don't... know you very well," and he wasn't very sure how much he was actually _allowed_ to know him, but... "But I know a few things. It should _not_ have been your burden to care for yourself or your brother- regardless of how clever you are. Nothing that has happened... has been your fault." It was a truth Sebastian had pushed aside after Jim's death- a festering wound of hate that he hoped to heal by eliminating the man that he blamed the most for all of this. But it had not solely been Mycroft's fault- barely his fault at all. "If anything, we've all played a hand in making this mess." 

It was completely impulsive, the way he tugged at the man's shirt and wrapped his arms around him- a tight, unexpected embrace. "And maybe, despite all the shit that's happened- some good things'll come from this, yeah?" He wasn't very sure what good would come from it for him- maybe new boundaries with Jim, _if_ he went back with the man. Maybe not going back at all, finding something _(someone)_ else to live for, to do with his life... "Might mend some bridges, or at least start on that. But trust me on that- you're not to blame for anything he's done. If he's anything like Jim- then telling him 'no'd only push him to do more. They're both fools," he gave a soft smile, "but they're our fools, yeah?" 

\--

The statement that he shouldn't have been responsible for being a parent… well he knew that, but hearing someone else say it was such a relief: he… he knew it was unreasonable, but everyone always told him it was reasonable- his parents, Uncle Rudy… he’d been 13 going on 30 and trying to be responsible, while his brother got to play and be a child…

And then he was being hugged.

No one had hugged him since…

And he was being hugged and Sebastian was talking about getting some good out of all this, and Mycroft couldn't POSSIBLY be collapsing on the man- so he wasn’t. And he couldn't possibly be muttering, “For your sake, I hope we find him, but he doesn't deserve you.”- so that didn't happen either.

\--

Sebastian was going to get the man a masseuse _and_ a therapist or something- and then he was going to maybe add Mycroft's parents to his own list of parents that needed to die (he'd amend it to 'have some sense beat into them' list if Mycroft asked nicely).

Mycroft went soft, clinging to him and Sebastian held him close, a hand coming up to rest on the back of his head.

Did Jim deserve him? Did _he_ deserve Jim? Sebastian wasn't sure either way- he had done very bad things and some very good things; but that all depended on what 'side' you decided was justified. He didn't believe for a moment that he or Jim or Mycroft would be classified wholly as 'good'. 

What did he deserve? 

Sebastian wasn't very sure. 

"Life rarely wants to give you what you deserve. Gotta force'er hand sometimes." 

\--

"An old philosophy professor of mine said we should all be grateful we don't get what we deserve," Mycroft muttered into the man's shoulder.

He REALLY should push himself away and pull himself together... really... he should.

"It's... obviously very late- or at least, I think I need to rest because I am evidently not... not doing well." He reluctantly stood up straight and took several deep breaths. "I plan on blaming all of it on the anesthetic, myself- I'm not normally this... ridiculously weepy."

He found his hand coming up and rubbing at Sebastian's hair and behind his ear without especially thinking about it, and then apologized profusely. "-incredibly forward of me, I didn't even ask- honestly I am normally not so-"

\--

Yeah. Mycroft's saying sounded more accurate. 

Maybe- in that case- he did deserve Jim.

His eyes slipped shut almost reflexively at the touch- whether that was the cat or just him he'd never be able to say. And then Mycroft was sputtering and spewing apologies- _but his hand was still on his head._

What a selfless, stupid man. 

Sebastian leaned forward, his own hand coming up to press against Mycroft's and keep it against his head and pressed his forehead against Mycroft's- very much like an affectionate cat. Without opening his eyes, "You seem to me like a very selfless man. Your brother, your country, your work- everything seems to come before you. So I'll tell you this- be _fucking_ selfish for once. If you want to pet me- do it. I don't mind and if I did I'd say something, but odds are I never will. If you want to pet me, pet me. If you want to brush me, brush me. If you want to- to _touch_ me then just do it- stop apologizing for being _human_." 

\--

Be selfish… Good God, the things he would do if he could- would- be selfish. Mycroft was blessed- and cursed- with a mind that ran probabilities and analysis at a speed most people could barely comprehend.

He pictured himself taking Sebastian as a guard, as a lover, as… everything it seemed Moriarty had made of him- but treating him far better.

He pictured making absolutely certain that James Moriarty was dead- even if that meant having him killed in the guise of rescue.

He pictured keeping that from Sebastian, and comforting him over the failure to rescue the man- and his gratitude that Mycroft had even tried.

And a very cold voice in the back of his mind reminded him that caring was never an advantage, and that this would be so very easy…

“No.” Mycroft said very quietly, and then more firmly, “No. I have… I am not a nice man, Sebastian, but ‘nice’ doesn't get the job done… however, if I was ‘selfish’ in this case and let myself do what I wanted I would… I would be exactly as horrible as you thought I was when you kidnapped me, and I would very much rather not lose the last vestiges of my ethics.” He looked at him a bit bleakly, “So we will actually try to find James Moriarty, and I will ACTUALLY help you rescue him- if he is still alive- and my sole concession to my selfish wishes is going to be to attempt to shake some damn sense into the man once he has recovered enough to take it.”

Mycroft brought his other hand up and took hold of Sebastian’s chin. “You… deserve enough time to heal, and IF I am fortunate enough to get to be ‘selfish’ with you I would prefer it be because you… wanted to, not because I manipulated you, or because James isn’t here ‘right now’.”

“I am, however, rather weak enough to ask if I can be selfish enough to have permission to pet you, and perhaps to have you... hug me… and… well I would love to brush you again once my arms recover.” Mycroft forced himself to take several deep breaths, “Well… I- ah… will need to sleep, and I believe you said you prefer to sleep as a tiger? So perhaps the relaxation of a bit of…” Mycroft snickered as he suddenly caught the joke before he made it, “'Light petting' would be relaxing to us both."

\--

Sebastian was very certain that was it then- close enough to feel Mycroft's breath against his skin, close enough to practically feel the heat coming off his body. Just a smidge more, _please_. 

And then the no. Firm- but soft, still kind. Not out of disgust or disapproval, but out of _kindness_ and Sebastian thought that might very well be worse. Worse still when Mycroft voiced the very same thoughts that Sebastian had been lingering on in his head- _we will actually try to find him, we will actually try to save him_ \- actually meaning there was a chance... that they might not have. Sebastian had a feeling that if he brought up those thoughts to Mycroft, the man would have given him the choice and let him decide. 

_You deserve time to heal._

Because he was injured- broken, shattered, a bit not right and-

_Not because you were manipulated._

Because he _was_ manipulated. 

_Not because James wasn't here._

But James _fucking_ Moriarty wasn't here-

And Sebastian couldn't decide how he felt about that. 

Mycroft was touching him gently- far too gently and far too tempting, the man clearly didn't realize the things he made Sebastian want to do. Hell- he didn't even know. 

Sebastian leaned his head in, voice a low whisper in Mycroft's ear, lips close enough to graze against his skin. "You are very, very lucky that I want to respect your wishes, Mycroft, or I would be very selfish right now." The kiss, if it could even be called that, was featherlight against his cheek and Sebastian pulled back, the corners of his eyes crinkled with a rather soft, if not a bit melancholic, light to them. His smile, soft at first, broadened into a crooked, teasing grin- "I assume I have to be a tiger for the light petting, hmm? Fine. I'll accept it- but if you're not careful, I might end up taking a nap on you." 

\--

Mycroft almost followed that kiss back… almost chased that barely-there brush of lips… but then the memory of the last time he was kissed- no.

Mycroft had intended, honestly, to just… enjoy the fur and the warmth and the touch without QUITE the temptation of the human form… and honestly avoid asking some questions that he thought he should better be rested for.

And then he noted a clump of fur that needed to be dealt with… 

And somehow this ended up with him working his way down a rather enormous expanse of fur with a comb, a brush, and his fingers, alternately petting and dealing with some minor tangles…

And somewhere in there, Sebastian did not so much fall asleep on Mycroft, as Mycroft fell asleep on HIM.

**Author's Note:**

> CONTAINS (POTENTIAL) SPOILERS 
> 
> Sebastian intended to do a lot of nasty triggery things to Mycroft- none of them happen. He had and will have multiple mood swings- largely these are influenced by a fragile emotional state he tries to hide. This is discussed in future chapters. 
> 
> Weres (shape changers) are treated horribly in this universe, and there is discussion of that. They are considered non-people: slaves. There is further discussion on the biology and the 'how' in future stories and chapters. 
> 
> Mycroft may appear to act out of character at times in this story- there are reasons (including being hit with were tranqs in Chapter 1, but that's not the only reason) so, bear with the 'apparent OOC' because it really isn't.


End file.
